THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 


JUST  BEFORE  WE  WERE  OFF  A  TELEGRAM  CAME  TO  HER,  WHICH  SHE 
READ  AND  HASTILY  STUFFED  INTO  A  POCKET  OF  HER  RIDING  HABIT 


THE  CRAIG  KENNEDY  5ER1E5 


THE 

SOCIAL  GANGSTER 


BY 


ARTHUR  B.REEVE 

FRONTISPIECE  BY 
WILL  FOSTER 


.HARPER  $  5ROTHERS-PU6USHERS 

NEW     YORK     AND    LOMDON 


TUB  SOCIAL  GANGSTBR 


Copyright.  1916,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER       ...        1 

II.  THE  CABARET  ROUGE  ....        9 

III.  THE  Fox  HUNT 19 

IV.  THE  TANGO  THIEF      ....      31 
V.  THE  "THE  DANSANT"      ...       40 

VI.  THE  SERUM  DIAGNOSIS      ...      48 

VII.  THE  DIAMOND  QUEEN        ...       60 

VIII.  THE  ANESTHETIC  VAPORIZER    .       .      70 

IX.  THE  TWILIGHT  SLEEP        ...      78 

X.  THE  SIXTH  SENSE      ....       90 

XI.  THE  INFERNAL  MACHINES  ...       99 

XII.  THE  SUBMARINE  BELL       .       .       .     109 

XIII.  THE  SUPER-TOXIN      .       .       .       .117 

XIV.  THE  SECRET  AGENTS  .       .       .       .126 
XV.  THE  GERM  OF  ANTHRAX    .       .       .     138 

XVI.  THE  SLEEPMAKER       ....     146 

XVII.  THE  INTER-URBAN  HANDICAP    .       .     154 

XVIII.  THE  TOXIN  OF  FATIGUE     .       .       .164 

XIX.  THE  X-RAY  DETECTIVE      .       .       .174 

XX.  THE  MECHANICAL  CONNOISSEUR      .     184 

XXI.  THE  RADIOGRAPH  WITNESS        .       .     193 

XXII.  THE  ABSOLUTE  ZERO   .       .       .       .202 

XXIII.  THE  VACUUM  BOTTLE                           211 


2064125 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIV.  THE  SOLAR  PLEXUS    .       .       .  .221 

XXV.  THE  DEMON  ENGINE  .       .       .  .231 

XXVI.  THE  ELECTROLYSIS  CLEW  .       .  .     240 

XXVII.  THE  PERPETUAL  MOTION  MACHINE  .     252 

XXVIII.  THE  CANCER  HOUSE    .       .       .  .260 

XXIX.  THE  QUACK  DOCTORS  .       .       .  .270 

XXX.  THE  FILTERABLE  VIRUS     .       .  .     280 

XXXI.  THE  VOODOO  MYSTERY      .       .  .     288 

XXXII.  THE  FLUORISCINE  TEST      .       .  .     296 

XXXIII.  THE  RESPIRATION  CALORIMETER  .     305 

XXXIV.  THE  EVIL  EYE 314 

XXXV.  THE  BURIED  TREASURE       .       .  .323 

XXXVI.  THE  WEED  OF  MADNESS  332 


The  Social  Gangster 


CHAPTEE  I 

THE  SOCIAL,  GANGSTER 

''I'M  so  worried  over  Gloria,  Professor  Kennedy, 
that  I  hardly  know  what  I  'm  doing. ' ' 

Mrs.  Bradford  Brackett  was  one  of  those  stunning 
women  of  baffling  age  of  whom  there  seem  to  be  so 
many  nowadays.  One  would  scarcely  have  believed 
that  she  could  be  old  enough  to  have  a  daughter  who 
would  worry  her  very  much. 

Her  voice  trembled  and  almost  broke  as  she  pro- 
ceeded with  her  story,  and,  looking  closer,  I  saw  that, 
at  least  now,  her  face  showed  marks  of  anxiety  that 
told  on  her  more  than  would  have  been  the  case  some 
years  before. 

At  the  mention  of  the  name  of  Gloria  Brackett,  I 
saw  that  Craig  was  extremely  interested,  though  he 
did  not  betray  it  to  Mrs.  Brackett.  Already,  with  my 
nose  for  news  I  had  scented  a  much  bigger  story  than 
any  that  had  been  printed.  For  the  Bracketts  had 
lately  been  more  or  less  in  the  news  of  the  day. 

Choking  back  a  little  suppressed  sob  in  her  throat, 
Mrs.  Brackett  took  from  a  delicate  gold  mesh  bag 
and  laid  on  the  desk  before  Kennedy  a  small  clipping 


2  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

from  the  "  Lost  and  Found  "  advertisements  in  the 
Star.   It  read : 

"REWARD  of  $10,000  and  absolutely  no  questions 
asked  for  the  return  of  a  diamond  necklace  of  seventy- 
one  stones  which  disappeared  from  a  house  at  Willys 
Hills,  Long  Island,  last  Saturday  or  Sunday. 
"LA  RUE  &  Co.,  Jewelers, 

' ' Fifth  Avenue. ' ' 

I  recognized  the  advertisement  as  one  that  had  occa- 
sioned a  great  deal  of  comment  on  the  Star,  due  to  its 
peculiar  nature.  It  had  been  a  great  mystery,  perhaps 
much  more  so  than  if  the  advertisement  had  been 
worded  and  signed  in  the  usual  way. 

I  knew  also  that  the  advertisement  had  created  a 
great  furore  of  excitement  and  gossip  at  the  fashion- 
able North  Shore  Hunt  Club  of  which  Bradford 
Brackett  was  Master  of  Fox  Hounds. 

"At  first,"  explained  Mrs.  Brackett  nervously, 
"La  Rue  &  Co.  were  able  to  keep  the  secret.  They 
even  refused  to  let  the  police  take  up  the  case.  But 
as  public  interest  in  the  advertisement  increased  at 
last  the  secret  leaked  out — at  least  that  part  of  it 
which  connected  our  name  with  the  loss.  That,  how- 
ever, seemed  only  to  whet  curiosity.  It  left  everybody 
wondering  what  was  back  of  it  all.  That's  what  we've 
been  trying  to  avoid — that  sort  of  publicity. ' ' 

She  paused  a  moment,  but  Kennedy  said  nothing, 
evidently  thinking  that  the  best  safety  valve  for  her 
overwrought  feelings  would  be  to  let  her  tell  her  story 
in  her  own  way. 

"Why,  you  know,"  she  resumed  rapidly,  to  hide 


THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER  3 

her  agitation,  "  the  most  ridiculous  things  have  been 
said.  Some  people  have  even  said  that  we  lost  noth- 
ing at  all,  that  it  was  all  a  clever  attempt  at  notoriety, 
to  get  our  names  in  the  papers.  Some  have  said  it  was 
a  plan  to  collect  the  burglary  insurance.  But  we  are 
wealthy.  They  didn't  stop  to  think  how  inconceiv- 
able that  was.  We  have  nothing  to  lose,  even  if  the 
necklace  is  never  heard  of  again. ' ' 

For  the  moment  her  indignation  had  got  the  better 
of  her  worry.  Most  opinions,  I  recalled,  had  been 
finally  that  the  disappearance  was  mixed  up  with 
some  family  affairs.  At  any  rate,  here  was  to  be  tke 
real  story  at  last.  I  dissembled  my  interest.  Mrs. 
Brackett's  indignation  was  quickly  succeeded  by  the 
more  poignant  feelings  that  had  brought  her  to 
Kennedy. 

"You  see,"  she  continued,  now  almost  sobbing,  "it 
is  really  all,  I  fear,  my  own  fault.  I  didn't  realize 
that  Gloria  was  growing  so  fast  and  so  far  out  of  my 
life.  I've  let  her  be  brought  up  by  governesses  and 
servants.  I  Ve  sent  her  to  the  best  schools  I  could  find. 
I  thought  it  was  all  right.  But  now,  too  late,  I  realize 
that  it  is  all  wrong.  I  haven't  kept  close  enough  to 
her." 

She  was  rattling  on  in  this  disjointed  manner,  get- 
ting more  and  more  excited,  but  still  Kennedy  made 
no  effort  to  lead  the  conversation. 

"I  didn't  think  Gloria  was  more  than  a  child.  But 
— why,  Mr.  Kennedy,  she's  been  going,  I  find,  to  these 
afternoon  dances  in  the  city  and  out  at  a  place  not 
far  from  Willys  Hills." 

"What  sort  of  places?"  prompted  Kennedy. 

"The  Cabaret  Rouge,"  answered  Mrs.  Brackett, 


4  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

flashing  at  us  a  look  of  defiance  that  really  masked 
fear  of  public  opinion. 

I  knew  of  the  place.  It  had  an  extremely  unsavory 
reputation.  In  fact  there  were  two  places  of  the  same 
name,  one  in  the  city  and  the  other  out  on  Long 
Island. 

Mrs.  Brackett  must  have  seen  Kennedy  and  me  ex- 
change a  look  askance  at  the  name. 

"Oh,  it's  not  a  question  of  morals,  alone,"  she  has- 
tened. "  After  all,  sometimes  common  sense  and  fool- 
ishness are  fair  equivalents  for  right  and  wrong." 

Kennedy  looked  up  quickly,  genuinely  surprised  at 
this  bit  of  worldly  wisdom. 

"When  women  do  stupid,  dangerous  things,  trouble 
follows, ' '  she  persisted,  adding,  ' '  if  not  at  once,  a  bit 
later.  This  is  a  case  of  it." 

One  could  not  help  feeling  sorry  for  the  woman 
and  what  she  had  to  face. 

"I  had  hoped,  oh,  so  dearly,"  she  went  on  a  mo- 
ment later,  "that  Gloria  would  marry  a  young  man 
who,  I  know,  is  devoted  to  her,  an  Italian  of  fine  fam- 
ily, Signer  Franconi — you  must  have  heard  of  him — 
the  inventor  of  a  new  system  of  wireless  transmission 
of  pictures.  But  with  such  a  scandal — how  can  we 
expect  it  ?  Do  you  know  him  ? ' ' 

"Not  personally,  though  I  have  heard  of  him,"  re- 
turned Kennedy  briefly. 

Both  Craig  and  myself  had  been  interested  in  re- 
ports of  his  invention,  which  he  called  the  ' '  Franconi 
Telephote,"  by  which  he  claimed  to  be  able  to  tele- 
graph either  over  wires  or  by  wireless  light  and  dark 
points  so  rapidly  and  in  such  a  manner  as  to  deceive 
the  eye  and  produce  at  the  receiving  end  what 


THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER  5 

amounted  to  a  continuous  reproduction  of  a  picture 
at  the  transmitting  end.  At  least,  in  spite  of  his 
society  leanings,  Franconi  was  no  mere  dilettante  in- 
ventor. 

"But — the  necklace,"  suggested  Craig,  after  a  mo- 
ment, for  the  first  time  interrupting  the  rather 
rambling  trend  of  Mrs.  Brackett's  story,  "what  has 
this  all  to  do  with  the  necklace?" 

She  looked  at  him  almost  despairingly.  "I  don't 
really  care  for  a  thousand  such  necklaces,"  she  cried. 
"It  is  my  daughter — her  good  name — her — her 
safety!" 

Suddenly  she  had  become  almost  hysterical  as  she 
thought  of  the  real  purpose  of  her  visit,  which  she  had 
not  yet  been  able  to  bring  herself  to  disclose  even  to 
Kennedy.  Finally,  with  an  effort,  she  managed  to 
control  herself  and  go  on. 

' '  You  see, ' '  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  almost  as  if  she 
were  confessing  some  fault  of  her  own,  "Gloria  has 
been  frequenting  these — recherche  places,  without  my 
knowledge,  and  there  she  has  become  intimate  with 
some  of  the  fastest  of  the  fast  set. 

' '  You  ask  about  the  necklace.  I  don 't  know,  I  must 
admit.  Has  some  one  of  her  friends  taken  advantage 
of  her  to  learn  our  habits  and  get  into  the  house  and 
get  it  ?  Or,  have  they  put  her  up  to  getting  it  ? " 

The  last  query  was  wrung  from  her  as  if  by  main 
force.  She  could  not  even  breathe  it  without  a  shud- 
der. "When  the  necklace  was  stolen,"  she  added 
tremulously,  "it  must  have  been  an  inside  job,  as  you 
detectives  call  it.  Mr.  Brackett  and  I  were  away  at 
the  time  at  a  week-end  party.  We  supposed  Gloria 
was  visiting  some  friends  in  the  city.  But  since  then 


6  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

we  have  learned  that  she  motored  out  with  some  of 
her  dance-crazed  acquaintances  to  the  Cabaret  Rouge, 
not  far  from  Willys  Hills.  It  must  have  been  taken 
then — by  some  of  them. ' ' 

The  recital  to  comparative  strangers,  even  though 
they  were  to  be  trusted  to  right  the  wrong,  was  more 
than  she  could  bear.  Mrs.  Brackett  was  now  genu- 
inely in  tears,  her  shoulders  trembling  under  the 
emotion,  as  she  bowed  her  head.  Her  despair  and  self- 
accusation  would  really  have  moved  anyone,  much 
less  were  needed  to  enlist  Kennedy.  He  said  nothing, 
but  his  look  of  encouragement  seemed  to  nerve  her  up 
again  to  go  on.  She  forced  back  her  feelings  heroic- 
ally. 

' '  We  put  the  advertisement  that  way  because — well, 
now  you  understand  why, ' '  she  resumed ;  then  antici- 
pating our  question,  added,  "But  there  has  been  no 
response. ' ' 

I  knew  from  her  tone  that  even  to  herself  she  would 
not  admit  that  Gloria  might  have  been  guilty.  Yet 
subconsciously  it  must  have  been  in  her  mind  and  she 
knew  it  was  in  ours.  Her  voice  broke  again. 

"Mr.  Brackett  has  repeatedly  ordered  Gloria  to  give 
up  her  fast  acquaintances.  But  she  defies  him.  Even 
to  my  pleadings  she  has  turned  a  deaf  ear. ' ' 

It  was  most  pathetic  to  watch  the  workings  of  the 
mother's  face  as  she  was  forced  to  say  this  of  her 
daughter.  All  thought  of  the  necklace  was  lost,  now. 

"I — I  want  my  daughter  back,"  she  almost  wailed. 

"Who  are  these  rapid  youngsters?"  asked  Craig 
gently. 

' '  I  don 't  know  all  of  them, ' '  she  replied.  ' '  There  is 
young  Rittenhouse  Smith;  he  is  one.  The  Ritten- 


THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER  7 

house  Smiths,  you  know,  are  a  very  fine  family.  But 
young  'Hitter,'  as  the  younger  set  call  him,  is  wild. 
They've  had  to  cut  his  allowance  two  or  three  times,  I 
believe.  Another  of  them  is  Rhinelander  Brown.  I 
don't  think  the  Browns  have  much  money,  but  it  is 
a  good  family.  Oh, ' '  she  added  with  a  faint  attempt 
at  a  smile,  ''I'm  not  the  only  mother  who  has  heart- 
aches. But  the  worst  of  it  is  that  there  are  some  pro- 
fessionals with  whom  they  go — a  dancer,  Rex  Du 
Mond,  and  a  woman  named  Bernice  Bentley.  I  don't 
know  any  more  of  them,  but  I  presume  there  is  a 
regular  organization  of  these  social  gangsters. ' ' 

' '  Did  Signer  Franconi — ever  go  with  them  ? ' '  asked 
Craig. 

"Oh,  mercy,  no,"  she  hastened. 

"And  they  can't  seem  to  break  the  gang  up," 
ruminated  Craig,  evidently  liking  her  characterization 
of  the  group. 

She  sighed  deeply  and  wiped  away  another  tear. 
"I've  done  what  I  could  with  Gloria.  I've  cut  her 
allowance — but  it  has  done  no  good.  I'm  losing  my 
hold  on  her  altogether.  You — you  will  help  me — I 
mean,  help  Gloria?"  she  asked  eagerly,  leaning  for- 
ward in  an  appeal  which  must  have  cost  her  a  great 
deal,  so  common  is  the  repression  of  such  feelings  in 
women  of  her  type. 

"Gladly,"  returned  Kennedy  heartily.  "I  will  do 
anything  in  my  power. ' ' 

Proud  though  she  was,  Mrs.  Brackett  could  scarcely 
murmur  her  thanks. 

""Where  can  I  see  Gloria?"  asked  Kennedy  finally. 

She  shook  her  head.  ' '  I  can 't  say.  If  you  want  to, 
you  may  see  her  tomorrow,  though,  at  the  drag  hunt 


8  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

of  the  club.  My  husband  says  he  is  not  going  to  take 
Gloria's  actions  without  a  protest.  So  he  has  per- 
emptorily ordered  her  to  attend  the  meet  of  the  Hunt 
Club.  We  thought  it  would  get  her  away,  at  least  for 
a  time,  from  her  associates,  though  I  must  say  I  can 't 
be  sure  that  she  will  obey. ' ' 

I  thought  I  understood,  partly  at  least.  Bradford 
Brackett 's  election  as  M.  F.  H.  had  been  a  crowning 
distinction  in  his  social  career  and  he  did  not  propose 
to  have  Gloria's  escapades  spoil  the  meet  for  him.  Per- 
haps he  thought  this  as  good  an  occasion  as  any  to  use 
his  power  to  force  her  back  into  the  circle  to  which 
she  rightfully  belonged. 

Mrs.  Brackett  had  risen.  "How  can  I  ever  thank 
you  ? ' '  she  exclaimed,  extending  her  hand  impulsively. 
' '  I  know  nothing  has  been  changed — yet.  But  already 
Ifeelbfc-ter." 

"I  shall  do  what  I  can;  depend  on  me,"  reiterated 
Kennedy  modestly.  "If  I  can  do  nothing  before,  I 
shall  be  out  at  the  Hunt  Club  tomorrow — perhaps  I 
shall  be  there  anyhow. ' ' 

"This  is  a  most  peculiar  situation,"  I  remarked  a 
few  minutes  later,  as  Mrs.  Brackett  was  whisked  away 
from  the  laboratory  door  in  her  motor. 

"Indeed  it  is,"  returned  Kennedy,  pacing  up  and 
down,  his  face  wrinkled  with  thought.  ' '  I  don 't  know 
whether  I  feel  more  like  a  detective  or  a  spiritual  ad- 
viser." He  pulled  out  his  watch.  "  Half -past  four, " 
he  considered.  "  I  'd  like  to  have  a  look  at  that  Cabaret 
Rouge  here  in  town." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  CABARET  ROUGE 

IT  was  a  perfect  autumn  afternoon,  one  of  those 
days  when  one  who  is  normal  feels  the  call  to  get  out 
of  doors  and  enjoy  what  is  left  of  the  fine  weather 
before  the  onset  of  winter.  We  strode  along  in  the 
bracing  air  until  at  last  we  turned  into  Broadway  at 
the  upper  end  of  what  might  be  called  "Automobile 
Row."  Motor  cars  and  taxicabs  were  buzzing  along 
in  an  endless  stream,  most  of  them  filled  with  women, 
gowned  and  bonneted  in  the  latest  mode. 

Before  the  garish  entrance  of  the  Cabaret  Rouge 
they  seemed  to  pile  up  and  discharge  their  feminine 
cargoes.  We  entered  and  were  quickly  engulfed  in  the 
tide  of  eager  pleasure  seekers.  A  handsome  and 
judicious  tip  to  the  head  waiter  secured  us  a  table  at 
the  far  end  of  a  sort  of  mezzanine  gallery,  from  which 
we  could  look  down  over  a  railing  at  the  various 
groups  at  the  little  white  tables  below.  There  we  sat, 
careful  to  spend  the  necessary  money  to  entitle  us  to 
stay,  for  to  the  average  New  Yorker  the  test  seems  to 
be  not  so  much  what  one  is  getting  for  it  as  how  much 
money  is  spent  when  out  for  a  ' '  good  time. ' ' 

Smooth  and  glittering  on  the  surface,  like  its  little 
polished  dancing  floor  in  the  middle  of  the  squares  of 
tables  downstairs,  the  Cabaret  Rouge,  one  could  see, 
had  treacherous  undercurrents  unsuspected  until  an 
insight  such  as  we  had  just  had  revealed  them. 

9 


10  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

The  very  atmosphere  seemed  vibrant  with  laughter 
and  music.  A  string  band  played  sharp,  staccato, 
highly  accentuated  music,  a  band  of  negroes  as  in 
many  of  the  showy  and  high-priced  places  where  a 
keen  sense  of  rhythm  was  wanted.  All  around  us 
women  were  smoking  cigarettes.  Everywhere  they 
were  sipping  expensive  drinks.  Instinctively  one  felt 
the  undertow  in  the  very  atmosphere. 

I  wondered  who  they  were  and  where  they  all  came 
from,  these  expensively  dressed,  apparently  refined 
though  perhaps  only  veneered  girls,  whirling  about 
with  the  pleasantest  looking  young  men  who  expertly 
guided  them  through  the  mazes  of  the  fox-trot  and  the 
canter  waltz  and  a  dozen  other  steps  I  knew  not  of. 
This  was  one  of  New  York's  latest  and  most  approved 
devices  to  beguile  the  languid  afternoons  of  ladies  of 
leisure. 

"There  she  is,"  pointed  out  Kennedy  finally.  "I 
recognize  her  from  the  pictures  I've  seen." 

I  followed  the  direction  of  his  eyes.  The  music  had 
started  and  out  on  the  floor  twisting  in  and  out  among 
the  crowded  couples  was  one  pair  that  seemed  to 
attract  more  attention  than  the  rest.  They  had  come 
from  a  gay  party  seated  in  a  little  leather  cozy  corner 
like  several  about  the  room,  evidently  reserved  for 
them,  for  the  cozy  corners  seemed  to  be  much  in 
demand. 

Gloria  was  well  named.  She  was  a  striking  girl,  not 
much  over  nineteen  surely,  tall,  lissome,  precisely  the 
figure  that  the  modern  dances  must  have  been  espe- 
cially designed  to  set  off.  I  watched  her  attentively. 
In  fact  I  could  scarcely  believe  the  impression  I  was 
gaining  of  her. 


11 

Already  one  could  actually  see  on  her  marks  of  dis- 
sipation. One  does  not  readily  think  of  a  girl  as  sow- 
ing her  wild  oats.  Yet  they  often  do.  This  is  one  of 
the  strange  anomalies  of  the  new  freedom  of  woman. 
A  few  years  ago  such  a  place  would  have  been  neither 
so  decent  nor  attractive.  Now  it  was  superficially  both. 
To  it  went  those  who  never  would  have  dared  overstep 
the  strictly  conventional  in  the  evil  days  when  the 
reformer  was  not  abroad  in  the  land. 

I  watched  Gloria  narrowly.  Clearly  here  was  an 
example  of  a  girl  attracted  by  the  glamor  of  the  life 
and  flattery  of  its  satellites.  What  the  end  of  it  all 
might  be  I  preferred  not  to  guess. 

Craig  was  looking  about  at  the  variegated  crowd. 
Suddenly  he  jogged  my  elbow.  There,  just  around  the 
turn  of  the  railing  of  the  gallery,  sat  a  young  man, 
dark  of  hair  and  eyes,  of  a  rather  distinguished  foreign 
appearance,  his  face  set  in  a  scowl  as  he  looked  down 
on  the  heads  of  the  dancers.  One  could  have  followed 
the  tortuous  course  of  Gloria  and  her  partner  by  his 
eyes,  which  the  man  never  took  off  her,  even  following 
her  back  to  the  table  in  the  corner  when  the  encore  of 
the  dance  was  finished. 

The  young  man's  face  at  least  was  familiar  to  me, 
though  I  had  not  met  him.  It  was  Signer  Franconi, 
quietly  watching  Gloria  and  her  gay  party. 

After  a  few  moments,  Craig  rose,  paid  his  check, 
and  moved  over  to  the  table  where  Franconi  was  sik 
ting  alone.  He  introduced  himself  and  Franconi,  with 
easy  politeness,  invited  us  to  join  him. 

I  studied  the  man's  face  attentively.  Signer  Fran- 
coni was  still  young,  in  spite  of  the  honors  that  had 
been  showered  on  him  for  his  many  inventions.  I  had 


12  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

wondered  before  why  such  a  man  would  be  interested 
in  a  girl  of  Gloria's  evident  type.  But  as  I  studied 
him  I  fancied  I  understood.  To  his  serious  mind  it 
was  just  the  butterfly  type  that  offered  the  greatest 
relief.  An  intellectual  woman  would  have  been  merely 
carrying  into  another  sphere  the  problems  with  which 
he  was  more  than  capable  of  wrestling.  But  there  was 
no  line  of  approval  in  his  fine  face  of  the  butterfly  and 
candle-singeing  process  that  was  going  on  here.  I 
must  say  I  heartily  liked  him. 

"What  are  you  working  on  now?"  asked  Kennedy 
as  a  preliminary  step  to  drawing  him  out  against  the 
time  when  we  might  become  better  acquainted  and 
put  the  conversation  on  a  firmer  basis. 

"A  system  of  wireless  transmission  of  pictures,"  he 
returned  mechanically.  "I  think  I  have  vastly  im- 
proved the  system  of  Dr.  Korn.  You  are  familiar  with 
it,  I  presume?" 

Kennedy  nodded.  "I  have  seen  it  work,"  he  said 
simply. 

That  telephotograph  apparatus,  I  remembered,  de- 
pended on  the  ability  of  the  element  selenium  to  vary 
the  strength  of  an  electric  current  passing  through  it 
in  proportion  to  the  brightness  with  which  the  sele- 
nium is  illuminated. 

"That  system,"  he  resumed,  speaking  as  though 
his  mind  was  not  on  the  subject  particularly  just 
now,  "produces  positive  pictures  at  one  end  of  the 
apparatus  by  the  successive  transmission  of  many 
small  parts  separately.  I  have  harnessed  the  alter- 
nating current  in  a  brand-new  way,  I  think.  Instead 
of  prolonging  the  operation,  I  do  it  all  at  once,  pro- 
jecting the  image  on  a  sheet  of  tiny  selenium  cells. 


13 

My  work  is  done.  Now  the  thing  to  do  is  to  convince 
the  world  of  that. ' ' 

"Then  you  have  the  telephote  in  actual  operation?" 
asked  Kennedy. 

"Yes,"  he  replied.  "I  have  a  little  station  down  on 
the  shore  of  the  south  side  of  the  island. ' '  He  handed 
us  a  card  on  which  he  wrote  the  address  at  South  Side 
Beach.  ' '  That  will  admit  you  there  at  any  time,  if  I 
should  not  be  about.  I  am  testing  it  out  there — have 
several  instruments  on  transatlantic  liners.  "We  think 
it  may  be  of  use  in  war — sending  plans,  photographs 
of  spies — and  such  things." 

He  stopped  suddenly.  The  music  had  started  again 
and  Gloria  was  again  out  on  the  dancing  floor.  It  was 
evident  that  at  this  very  important  time  in  his  career 
Franconi's  mind  was  on  other  things. 

"Everyone  seems  to  become  easily  acquainted  with 
everyone  else  here,"  remarked  Craig,  bending  over 
the  rail. 

"I  suppose  one  cannot  dance  without  partners,"  re- 
turned Franconi  absently. 

We  continued  to  watch  the  dancers.  I  knew  enough 
of  these  young  fellows,  merely  by  their  looks,  to  see 
that  most  of  them  were  essential  replicas  of  one  type. 
Certainly  most  of  them  could  have  qualified  as  social 
gangsters,  without  scruples,  without  visible  means  of 
support,  without  character  or  credit,  but  not  without 
a  certain  vicious  kind  of  ambition. 

They  seemed  to  have  an  unlimited  capacity  for 
dancing,  freak  foods,  joy  rides,  and  clothes.  Clothes 
were  to  them  what  a  jimmy  is  to  a  burglar.  Their 
English  coats  were  so  tight  that  one  wondered  how 
they  bent  and  swayed  without  bursting.  Smart 


14  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

clothes  and  smart  manners  such  as  they  affected  were 
very  fascinating  to  some  women. 

"Who  are  they  all,  do  you  suppose?"  I  queried. 

"All  sorts  and  conditions,"  returned  Kennedy. 
"Wall  Street  fellows  whose  pocketbooks  have  been 
thinned  by  dull  times  on  the  Exchange ;  actors  out  of 
engagements,  law  clerks,  some  of  them  even  college 
students.  They  seem  to  be  a  new  class.  I  don't  think 
of  any  other  way  they  could  pick  up  a  living  more 
easily  than  by  this  polite  parasitism.  None  of  them 
have  any  money.  They  don't  get  anything  from  the 
owner  of  the  cabaret,  of  course,  except  perhaps  the 
right  to  sign  checks  for  a  limited  amount  in  the  hope 
that  they  may  attract  new  business.  It's  grafting, 
pure  and  simple.  The  women  are  their  dupes;  they 
pay  the  bills — and  even  now  and  then  something  for 
'private  lessons'  in  dancing  in  a  'studio.'  ' 

Franconi  was  dividing  his  attention  between  what 
Kennedy  was  saying  and  watching  Gloria  and  her 
partner,  who  seemed  to  be  a  leader  of  the  type  I  have 
just  described,  tall  and  spare  as  must  be  the  successful 
dancing  men  of  today. 

"There's  a  fellow  named  Du  Mond,"  he  put  in. 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  Craig,  as  though  we  had  never 
heard  of  him. 

"To  borrow  one  of  your  Americanisms,"  returned 
Franconi,  "I  think  he's  the  man  who  puts  the  'tang' 
in  tango.  From  what  I  hear,  though,  I  think  he  bor- 
rows the  'fox'  from  fox-trot  and  plucks  the  feathers 
from  the  'lame  duck.'  " 

Kennedy  smiled,  but  immediately  became  interested 
in  a  tall  blonde  girl  who  had  been  talking  to  Du  Mond 
just  before  the  dancing  began.  I  noticed  that  she 


THE  CABARET  ROUGE  15 

was  not  dancing,  but  stood  in  the  background  most  of 
the  time  giving  a  subtle  look  of  appraisal  to  the  men 
who  sat  at  tables  and  the  girls  who  also  sat  alone.  Now 
and  then  she  would  move  from  one  table  to  another 
with  that  easy,  graceful  glide  which  showed  she  had 
been  a  dancer  from  girlhood.  Always  after  such  an 
excursion  we  saw  other  couples  who  had  been  watching 
in  lonely  wistfulness,  now  made  happy  by  a.  chance 
to  join  the  throng. 

"Who  is  that  woman?"  I  asked. 

"I  believe  her  name  is  Bernice  Bentley,"  replied 
Franconi.  "She's  the — well,  they  call  her  the  official 
hostess — a  sort  of  introducer.  That's  the  reason  why, 
as  you  observed,  there  is  no  lack  of  friendliness  and 
partners.  She  just  arranges  introductions,  very  tact- 
fully, of  course,  for  she's  experienced." 

I  regarded  her  with  astonishment.  I  had  never 
dreamed  that  such  a  thing  was  possible,  even  in  cos- 
mopolitan New  York.  What  could  these  women  be 
thinking  of?  Some  of  them  looked  more  than  capable 
of  taking  care  of  themselves,  but  there  must  be  many, 
like  Gloria,  who  were  not.  What  did  they  know  of  the 
men,  except  their  clothes  and  steps  ? 

"Soft  shoe  workers,  tango  touts,"  muttered  Ken- 
nedy under  his  breath. 

As  we  watched  we  saw  a  slender,  rather  refined- 
looking  girl  come  in  and  sit  quietly  at  a  table  in  the 
rear.  I  wondered  what  the  official  introducer  would 
do  about  her  and  waited.  Sure  enough,  it  was  not 
long  before  Miss  Bentley  appeared  with  one  of  the 
dancing  men  in  tow.  To  my  surprise  the  "hostess" 
was  coldly  turned  down.  What  it  was  that  happened 
I  did  not  know,  but  it  was  evident  that  a  change  had 


16  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

taken  place.  Unobtrusively  Bernice  Bentley  seemed 
to  catch  the  roving  eye  of  Du  Mond  while  he  was 
dancing  and  direct  it  toward  the  little  table.  I  saw 
his  face  flush  suddenly  and  a  moment  later  he  man- 
aged to  work  Gloria  about  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
dancing  floor  and,  though  the  music  had  not  stopped, 
on  some  pretext  or  other  to  join  the  party  in  the  corner 
again. 

Gloria  did  not  want  to  stop  dancing,  but  it  seemed 
as  if  Du  Mond  exercised  some  sort  of  influence  over 
her,  for  she  did  just  as  he  wished.  Was  she  really 
afraid  of  him?  Who  was  the  little  woman  who  had 
been  like  a  skeleton  at  a  feast? 

Almost  before  we  knew  it,  it  seemed  that  the  little 
party  had  tired  of  the  Cabaret  Eouge.  Of  course  we 
could  hear  nothing,  but  it  seemed  as  if  Du  Mond  were 
proposing  something  and  had  carried  his  point.  At 
any  rate  the  waiter  was  sent  on  a  mysterious  excursion 
and  the  party  made  as  though  they  were  preparing  to 
leave. 

Little  had  been  said  by  either  Franconi  or  our- 
selves, but  it  was  by  a  sort  of  instinct  that  we,  too, 
paid  our  check  and  moved  down  to  the  coat  room  ahead 
of  them.  In  an  angle  we  waited,  until  Gloria  and  her 
party  appeared.  Du  Mond  was  not  with  them.  We 
looked  out  of  the  door.  Before  the  cabaret  stood  a 
smart  hired  limousine  which  was  evidently  Gloria's. 
She  would  not  have  dared  use  her  own  motor  on  such 
an  excursion. 

They  drove  off  without  seeing  us  and  a  moment 
later  Du  Mond  and  Bernice  Bentley  appeared. 

' '  Thank  you  for  the  tip, ' '  I  heard  him  whisper.  ' '  I 
thought  the  best  thing  was  to  get  them  away  without 


THE  CABARET  ROUGE  17 

me.  I'll  catch  them  in  a  taxi  later.  You're  off  at 
seven  ?  Ritter  will  call  for  you  ?  Then  we  '11  wait  and 
all  go  out  together.  It's  safer  out  there." 

Just  what  it  all  meant  I  could  not  say,  but  it  in- 
terested me  to  know  that  young  Ritter  Smith  and 
Bernice  Bentley  seemed  on  such  good  terms.  Evi- 
dently the  gay  party  were  transferring  the  scene  of 
their  gayety  to  the  country  place  of  the  Cabaret 
Rouge.  But  why  ? 

We  parted  at  the  door  with  Franconi,  who  repeated 
his  invitation  to  visit  his  shop  down  at  the  beach. 

I  started  to  follow  Franconi  out,  but  Kennedy  drew 
me  back.  "Why  did  you  suppose  I  let  them  go?"  he 
explained  under  his  breath,  as  we  retreated  to  the 
angle  again.  "I  wanted  to  watch  that  little  woman 
who  came  in  alone." 

We  had  not  long  to  wait.  Scarcely  had  Du  Mond 
disappeared  when  she  came  out  and  stood  in  the  en- 
trance while  a  boy  summoned  a  taxicab  for  her. 

Kennedy  improved  the  opportunity  by  calling 
another  for  us  and  by  the  time  she  was  ready  to  drive 
off  we  were  able  to  follow  her.  She  drove  to  the 
Prince  Henry  Hotel,  where  she  dismissed  the  machine 
and  entered.  We  did  the  same. 

' '  By  the  way, ' '  asked  Kennedy  casually,  sauntering 
up  to  the  desk  after  she  had  stopped  to  get  her  keys 
and  a  letter, ' '  can  you  tell  me  who  that  woman  was  ? ' ' 

The  clerk  ran  his  finger  down  the  names  on  the 
register.  At  last  he  paused  and  turned  the  book 
around  to  us.  His  finger  indicated :  ' '  Mrs.  Katherine 
Du  Mond,  Chicago." 

Kennedy  and  I  looked  at  each  other  in  amazement. 
Du  Mond  was  married  and  his  wife  was  in  town.  She 


18  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

had  not  made  a  scene.  She  had  merely  watched. 
What  could  have  been  more  evident  than  that  she 
was  seeking  evidence  and  such  evidence  could  only 
have  been  for  a  court  of  law  in  a  divorce  suit?  The 
possibilities  which  the  situation  opened  up  for  Gloria 
seemed  frightful. 

We  left  the  hotel  and  Kennedy  hurried  down  Broad- 
way, turning  off  at  the  office  of  a  young  detective, 
Chase,  whom  he  used  often  on  matters  of  pure  routine 
for  which  he  had  no  time. 

' '  Chase, ' '  he  instructed,  when  we  were  seated  in  the 
office, ' '  you  recall  that  advertisement  of  the  lost  neck- 
lace in  the  Star  by  La  Rue  &  Co.  ? ' ' 

The  young  man  nodded.  Everyone  knew  it. 
"Well,"  resumed  Kennedy,  "I  want  you  to  search 
the  pawnshops,  particularly  those  of  the  Tenderloin, 
for  any  trace  you  can  find  of  it.  Let  me  know,  if  it 
is  only  a  rumor." 

There  was  nothing  more  that  we  could  do  that 
night,  though  Kennedy  found  out  over  the  telephone, 
by  a  ruse,  that,  as  he  suspected,  the  country  place  of 
the  Cabaret  Rouge  was  the  objective  of  the  gay  party 
which  we  had  seen. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  FOX  HUNT 

THE"  next  day  was  that  of  the  hunt  and  we  motored 
out  to  the  North  Shore  Hunt  Club.  It  was  a  splendid 
day  and  the  ride  was  just  enough  to  put  an  edge  on 
the  meet  that  was  to  follow. 

We  pulled  up  at  last  before  the  rambling  colonial 
building  which  the  Hunt  Club  boasted  as  its  home. 
Mrs.  Brackett  was  waiting  for  us  already  with  horses 
from  the  Brackett  stables. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  came,"  she  greeted  us  aside. 
"Gloria  is  here — under  protest.  That  young  man 
over  there,  talking  to  her,  is  Hitter  Smith.  'Rhine' 
Brown,  as  they  call  him,  was  about  a  moment  ago — 
oh,  yes,  there  he  is,  coming  over  on  that  chestnut  mare 
to  talk  to  them.  I  wanted  you  to  see  them  here.  After 
the  hunt,  if  you  care  to,  I  think  you  might  go  over  to 
the  Cabaret  Rouge  out  here.  You  might  find  out 
something. ' ' 

She  was  evidently  quite  proud  of  her  handsome 
daughter  and  that  anything  should  come  up  to  smirch 
her  name  cut  her  deeply. 

The  Hunt  Club  was  a  swagger  organization,  even  in 
these  degenerate  days  when  farmers  will  not  tolerate 
broken  fences  and  trampled  crops,  and  when  demo- 
cratic ideas  interfere  sadly  with  the  follies  of  the  rich. 
In  a  cap  with  a  big  peak,  a  scarlet  hunting  coat  and 

19 


20  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

white  breeches  with  top  boots,  Brackett  himself  made 
a  striking  figure  of  M.  F.  H. 

There  were  thirty  or  forty  in  the  field,  the  men  in 
silk  hats.  For  the  most  part  one  could  not  see  that 
the  men  treated  Gloria  much  differently.  But  it  was 
evident  that  the  women  did.  In  fact  the  coldness  even 
extended  to  her  mother,  who  would  literally  have  been 
frozen  out  if  it  had  not  been  for  her  quasi-official 
position.  I  could  see  now  that  it  was  also  a  fight  for 
Mrs.  Brackett 's  social  life. 

As  we  watched  Gloria,  we  could  see  that  Franconi 
was  hovering  around,  unsuccessfully  trying  to  get  an 
opportunity  to  say  a  word  to  her  alone.  Just  before 
we  were  off  a  telegram  came  to  her,  which  she  read 
and  hastily  stuffed  into  a  pocket  of  her  riding  habit. 

But  that  was  all  that  happened  and  I  fell  to  study- 
ing the  various  types  of  human  nature,  from  the  be- 
ginner who  rode  very  hard  and  very  badly  and  made 
himself  generally  odious  to  the  M.  F.  H.,  to  the  old 
seasoned  hunter  who  talked  of  the  old  days  of  real 
foxes  and  how  he  used  to  know  all  the  short  cuts  to 
the  coverts. 

It  was  a  keen,  crisp  day.  Already  a  man  had  been 
over  the  field  pulling  along»the  ground  a  little  bag  of 
aniseed,  and  now  the  hunt  was  about  to  start. 

Noses  down,  sterns  feathering  zigzag  over  the 
ground,  sniffing  earth  and  leaves  and  grass,  the 
hounds  were  brought  up.  One  seemed  to  get  a  good 
whiff  of  the  trail  and  lifted  his  head  with  a  half  yelp, 
half  whine,  high  pitched,  frenzied,  never-to-be-forgot- 
ten. Others  joined  in  the  music.  "Gone  away!" 
sounded  a  huntsman  as  if  there  were  a  real  fox.  We 
were  off  after  them.  Drag  hounds,  however,  for  the 


THE  FOX  HUNT  21 

most  part  run  mute  and  very  fast,  so  that  that  pic- 
turesque feature  was  missing.  But  the  light  soil  and 
rail  fences  of  Long  Island  were  ideal  for  drag  hunt- 
ing. Nor  was  it  so  easy  as  it  seemed  to  follow.  Also 
there  was  the  spice  of  danger,  risk  to  the  hunters,  the 
horses  and  the  dogs. 

We  went  for  four  or  five  miles.  Then  there  was  a 
check  for  the  stragglers  to  come  up.  Some  had  fresh 
mounts,  and  all  of  us  were  glad  of  the  breathing 
space  while  the  M.  F.  H.  "held"  the  hounds. 

While  we  waited  we  saw  that  Mrs.  Brackett  was 
riding  about  quickly,  as  if  something  were  on  her 
mind.  A  moment  she  stopped  to  speak  to  her  hus- 
band, then  galloped  over  to  us. 

Her  face  was  almost  white.  "Gloria  hasn't  come  up 
with  the  rest!"  she  exclaimed  breathlessly. 

Already  Brackett  had  told  those  about  him  and  all 
was  confusion.  It  was  only  a  moment  when  the  mem- 
bers of  the  hunt  were  scouring  the  country  over  which 
we  had  passed,  with  something  really  definite  to  find. 

Kennedy  did  not  pause.  "Come  on,  Walter,"  he 
shouted,  striking  out  down  the  road,  with  me  hard 
after  him. 

We  pulled  up  before  a  road-house  of  remarkable 
quaintness  and  luxury  of  appointment,  one  of  the 
hundreds  about  New  York  which  the  automobile  has 
recreated.  Before  it  swung  the  weathered  sign :  Cab- 
aret Rouge. 

To  our  hurried  inquiries  the  manager  admitted  that 
Du  Mond  had  been  there,  but  alone,  and  had  left, 
also  alone.  Gloria  had  not  come  there. 

A  moment  later  sounds  of  hoofs  on  the  hard  road 
interrupted  us  and  Ritter  Smith  dashed  up. 


22  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"Just  overtook  a  farmer  down  the  road,"  he 
panted.  "Says  he  saw  an  automobile  waiting  at  the 
stone  bridge  and  later  it  passed  him  with  a  girl  and  a 
man  in  it.  He  couldn't  recognize  them.  The  top  was 
up  and  they  went  so  fast. ' ' 

Together  we  retraced  the  way  to  the  stone  bridge. 
Sure  enough,  there  on  the  side  of  the  road  were  marks 
where  a  car  had  pulled  up.  The  grass  about  was 
trampled  and  as  we  searched  Kennedy  reached  down 
and  picked  up  something  white.  At  least  it  had  been 
white.  But  now  it  was  spotted  with  fresh  blood,  as 
though  someone  had  tried  to  stop  a  nose-bleed. 

He  looked  at  it  more  closely.  In  the  corner  was 
embroidered  a  little  "G." 

Evidently  there  had  been  a  struggle  and  a  car  had 
whizzed  off.  Gloria  was  gone.  But  with  whom  ?  Had 
the  message  which  we  had  seen  her  read  at  the  start 
been  from  Du  Mond?  Was  the  plan  to  elope  and  so 
avoid  his  wife  ?  Then  why  the  struggle  ? 

Absolutely  nothing  more  developed  from  the  search. 
An  alarm  was  at  once  sent  out  and  the  police  all  over 
the  country  notified.  There  was  nothing  to  do  now 
but  wait.  Mrs.  Brackett  was  frantic.  But  it  was  not 
now  the  scandal  that  worried  her.  It  was  Gloria's 
safety. 

That  night,  in  the  laboratory,  Kennedy  took  the 
handkerchief  and  with  the  blood  on  it  made  a  most 
peculiar  test  before  a  strange-looking  little  instru- 
ment. 

It  seemed  to  consist  of  a  little  cylinder  of  glass  im- 
mersed in  water  kept  at  the  temperature  of  the  body. 
Between  two  minute  wire  pincers  or  serres,  in  the 
cylinder,  was  a  very  small  piece  of  some  tissue.  To 


THE  FOX  HUNT  23 

the  lower  serre  was  attached  a  thread.  The  upper 
one  was  attached  to  a  sort  of  lever  ending  in  a  pen 
that  moved  over  a  ruled  card. 

"Every  emotion,"  remarked  Kennedy  as  he 
watched  the  movement  of  the  pen  in  fine  zigzag  lines 
over  the  card,  "produces  its  physiological  effect. 
Fear,  rage,  pain,  hunger  are  primitive  experiences, 
the  most  powerful  that  determine  the  actions  of  man. 
I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  the  recent  studies  of  Dr. 
Walter  Cannon  of  Harvard  of  the  group  of  remark- 
able alterations  in  bodily  economy  under  emotion?" 

I  nodded  and  Kennedy  resumed.  "On  the  surface 
one  may  see  the  effect  of  blood  vessels  contracting,  in 
pallor ;  one  may  see  cold  sweat,  or  the  saliva  stop  when 
the  tongue  cleaves  to  the  roof  of  the  mouth,  or  one 
may  see  the  pupils  dilate,  hairs  raise,  respiration  be- 
come quick,  or  the  beating  of  the  heart,  or  trembling 
of  the  muscles,  notably  the  lips.  But  one  cannot  see 
such  evidences  of  emotion  if  he  is  not  present  at  the 
time.  How  can  we  reconstruct  them?" 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  resumed.  "There  are 
organs  hidden  deep  in  the  body  which  do  not  reveal 
so  easily  the  emotions.  But  the  effect  often  outlasts 
the  actual  emotion.  There  are  special  methods  by 
which  one  can  study  the  feelings.  That  is  what  I 
have  been  doing  here. ' r 

"But  how  can  you?"  I  queried. 

"There  is  what  is  called  the  sympathetic  nervous 
system,"  he  explained.  "Above  the  kidney  there  are 
also  glands  called  the  suprarenal  which  excrete  a 
substance  known  as  adrenin.  In  extraordinarily  small 
amounts  adrenin  affects  this  sympathetic  system.  In 
emotions  of  various  kinds  a  reflex  action  is  sent  to 


24  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

the  suprarenal  glands  which  causes  a  pouring  into 
the  blood  of  adrenin. 

"On  the  handkerchief  of  Gloria  Brackett  I  obtained 
plenty  of  comparatively  fresh  blood.  Here  in  this 
machine  I  have  between  these  two  pincers  a  minute 
segment  of  rabbit  intestine. ' ' 

He  withdrew  the  solution  from  the  cylinder  with  a 
pipette,  then  introduced  some  more  of  the  dissolved 
blood  from  the  handkerchief.  The  first  effect  was  a 
strong  contraction  of  the  rabbit  intestine,  then  in  a 
minute  or  so  the  contractions  became  fairly  even  with 
the  base  line  on  the  card. 

' '  Such  tissue, ' '  he  remarked, ' '  is  noticeably  affected 
by  even  one  part  in  over  a  million  of  adrenin.  See. 
Here,  by  the  writing  lever,  the  rhythmical  contrac- 
tions are  recorded.  Such  a  strip  of  tissue  will  live  for 
hours,  will  contract  and  relax  beautifully  with  a  regu- 
lar rhythm  which,  as  you  see,  can  be  graphically  re- 
corded. This  is  my  adrenin  test. ' ' 

Carefully  he  withdrew  the  ruled  paper  with  its 
tracings. 

"It's  a  very  simple  test  after  all,"  he  said,  laying 
beside  this  tracing  another  which  he  had  made  pre- 
viously. ' '  There  you  see  the  difference  between  what 
I  may  call  'quiet  blood'  and  'excited  blood.'  ' 

I  looked  at  the  two  sets  of  tracings.  Though  they 
were  markedly  different,  I  did  not,  of  course,  under- 
stand what  they  meant.  "What  do  they  show  to  an 
expert?"  I  asked,  perplexed. 

"Fear,"  he  answered  laconically.  "Gloria  Brack- 
ett did  not  go  voluntarily.  She  did  not  elope.  She 
was  forced  to  go!" 

"Attacked  and  carried  off  ?'*  I  queried. 


THE  FOX  HUNT  25 

"I  did  not  say  that,"  he  replied.  "Perhaps  our 
original  theory  that  her  nose  was  bleeding  may  be 
correct.  It  might  have  started  in  the  excitement,  the 
anger  and  fear  at  what  happened,  whatever  it  was. 
Certainly  the  amount  of  adrenin  in  her  blood  shows 
that  she  was  laboring  under  strong  enough  emotion. ' ' 

Our  telephone  rang  insistently  and  Kennedy  an- 
swered it.  As  he  talked,  although  I  could  hear  only 
one  side  of  the  conversation,  I  knew  that  the  message 
was  from  Chase  and  that  he  had  found  something  im- 
portant about  the  missing  necklace. 

' '  What  was  it  ? ' '  I  asked  eagerly  as  he  hung  up  the 
receiver. 

"Chase  has  traced  the  necklace,"  he  reported; 
"that  is,  he  has  discovered  the  separate  stones,  unset, 
pawned  in  several  shops.  The  tickets  were  issued  to 
a  girl  whose  description  exactly  fits  Gloria  Brackett. ' ' 

I  could  only  stare  at  him.  What  we  had  all  feared 
had  actually  taken  place.  Gloria  must  have  taken  the 
necklace  herself.  Though  we  had  feared  it  and  tried 
to  discount  it,  nevertheless  the  certainty  came  as  a 
shock. 

' '  Why  should  she  have  taken  it  ? "  I  considered. 

"For  many  possible  reasons,"  returned  Kennedy. 
"You  saw  the  life  she  was  leading.  Her  own  income 
probably  went  to  keeping  those  harpies  going.  Be- 
sides, her  mother  had  cut  her  allowance.  She  may 
have  needed  money  very  badly. ' ' 

"Perhaps  they  had  run  her  into  debt,"  I  agreed, 
though  the  thought  was  disagreeable. 

"How  about  that  other  little  woman  we  saw?"  sug- 
gested Kennedy.  ' '  You  remember  how  Gloria  seemed 
to  stand  in  fear  of  Du  Mond?  Who  knows  but  that 


26  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

he  made  her  get  it  to  save  her  reputation  ?  A  girl  in 
Gloria's  position  might  do  many  foolish  things.  But 
to  be  named  as  co-respondent,  that  would  be  fatal. ' ' 

There  was  not  much  comfort  to  be  had  by  either 
alternative,  and  we  sat  for  a  moment  regarding  each 
other  in  silence. 

Suddenly  the  door  opened.  Mrs.  Brackett  entered. 
Never  have  I  seen  a  greater  contrast  in  so  short  a  time 
than  that  between  the  striking  society  matron  who 
first  called  on  us  and  the  broken  woman  now  before 
us.  She  was  a  pathetic  figure  as  Kennedy  placed  an 
easy  chair  for  her. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  asked  Kennedy. 
"Have  you  heard  anything  new?" 

She  did  not  answer  directly,  but  silently  handed 
him  a  yellow  slip  of  paper.  On  a  telegraph  blank 
were  written  simply  the  words,  "Don't  try  to  follow 
me.  I  've  gone  to  be  a  war  nurse.  When  I  make  good 
I  will  let  you  know.  Gloria. ' ' 

We  looked  at  each  other  in  blank  amazement.  That 
was  hardly  an  easy  way  to  trace  her.  How  could  one 
ever  find  out  now  where  she  was,  in  the  present  state 
of  affairs  abroad,  even  supposing  it  were  not  a  ruse 
to  cover  up  something? 

Somehow  I  felt  that  the  message  did  not  tell  the 
story.  Where  was  Du  Mond?  Had  he  fled,  too, — 
perhaps  forced  her  to  go  with  him  when  Mrs.  Du 
Mond  appeared?  The  message  did  not  explain  the 
struggle  and  the  fear. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Kennedy,"  pleaded  Mrs.  Brackett,  all 
thought  of  her  former  pride  gone,  as  she  actually  held 
out  her  hands  imploringly  and  almost  fell  on  her 
knees,  "can't  you  find  her — can't  you  do  something?" 


THE  FOX  HUNT  27 

"Have  you  a  photograph  of  Gloria?"  he  asked  hur- 
riedly. 

"Yes,"  she  cried  eagerly,  reaching  into  her  mesh 
bag  and  drawing  one  out.  "I  carry  it  with  me 
always.  Why?" 

' '  Come, ' '  exclaimed  Kennedy,  seizing  it.  ' '  It  occurs 
to  me  that  it  is  now  or  never  that  this  device  of 
Franconi's  must  prove  that  it  is  some  good.  If  she 
really  went,  she  wasted  no  time.  There's  just  a  bare 
chance  that  the  telephote  has  been  placed  on  some  of 
these  vessels  that  are  carrying  munitions  abroad. 
Franconi  says  that  he  has  developed  it  for  its  war 
value." 

As  fast  as  Mrs.  Brackett  's  chauffeur  could  drive  us, 
we  motored  down  to  South  Side  Beach  and  sought  out 
the  little  workshop  directly  on  the  ocean  where  Fran- 
coni had  told  us  that  we  should  always  be  welcome. 

He  was  not  there,  but  an  assistant  was.  Kennedy 
showed  him  the  card  that  Franconi  had  given  us. 

' '  Show  me  how  the  machine  works, ' '  he  asked,  while 
Mrs.  Brackett  and  I  waited  aside,  scarcely  able  to  curb 
our  impatience. 

"Well,"  began  the  assistant,  "this  is  a  screen  of 
very  minute  and  sensitive  selenium  cells.  I  don't 
know  how  to  describe  the  process  better  than  to  say 
that  the  tones  of  sound,  the  human  voice,  have  hun- 
dreds of  gradations  which  are  transmitted,  as  you 
know,  by  wireless,  now.  Gradations  of  light,  which  are 
all  that  are  necessary  to  produce  the  illusion  of  a  pic- 
ture, are  far  simpler  than  those  of  sound.  Here,  in 
this  projector — " 

"That  is  the  transmitting  part  of  the  apparatus?" 
interrupted  Kennedy  brusquely.  * '  That  holder  ? ' ' 


28  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"Yes.  You  see  there  are  hundreds  of  alternating 
conductors  and  insulators,  all  synchronized  with  hun- 
dreds of  similar  receivers  at  the — " 

"Let  me  see  you  try  this  photograph,"  interrupted 
Kennedy  again,  handing  over  the  picture  of  Gloria 
which  Mrs.  Brackett  had  given  him.  "Signer  Fran- 
coni  told  me  he  had  the  telephote  on  several  outgoing 
liners.  Let  me  see  if  you  can  transmit  it.  Is  there 
any  way  of  sending  a  wireless  message  from  this 
place?" 

The  assistant  had  shoved  the  photograph  into  the 
holder  from  which  each  section  was  projected  on  the 
selenium  cell  screen. 

"I  have  a  fairly  powerful  plant  here,"  he  replied. 

Quickly  Kennedy  wrote  out  a  message,  briefly  de- 
scribing the  reason  why  the  picture  was  transmitted 
and  asking  that  any  station  on  shipboard  that  received 
it  would  have  a  careful  search  made  of  the  passengers 
for  any  young  woman,  no  matter  what  name  was  as- 
sumed, who  might  resemble  the  photograph. 

Though  nothing  could  be  expected  immediately  at 
best,  it  was  at  least  some  satisfaction  to  know  that 
through  the  invisible  air  waves,  wirelessly,  the  only 
means  now  of  identifying  Gloria  was  being  flashed  far 
and  wide  to  all  the  big  ships  within  a  day's  distance 
or  less  on  which  Franconi  had  established  his  system 
as  a  test. 

The  telephote  had  finished  its  work.  Now  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  wait.  It  was  a  slender  thread  on 
which  hung  the  hope  of  success. 

While  we  waited,  Mrs.  Brackett  was  eating  her  heart 
out  with  anxiety.  Kennedy  took  the  occasion  to  call 
up  the  New  York  police  on  long  distance.  They  had 


THE  FOX  HUNT  29 

no  clew  to  Gloria.  Nor  had  they  been  able  to  find  a 
trace  of  Du  Mond.  Mrs.  Du  Mond  also  had  disap- 
peared. At  the  Cabaret  Rouge,  Bernice  Bentley  had 
been  held  and  put  through  a  third  degree,  without  dis- 
closing a  thing,  if  indeed  she  knew  anything.  I  won- 
dered whether,  at  such  a  crisis,  Du  Mond,  too,  might 
not  have  taken  the  opportunity  to  flee  the  country. 

We  had  almost  given  up  hope,  when  suddenly  a 
little  buzzer  on  the  telephote  warned  the  operator  that 
something  was  coming  over  it. 

"The  Monfalcone,"  he  remarked,  interpreting  the 
source  of  the  impulses. 

We  gathered  breathlessly  about  the  complicated  in- 
strument as,  on  a  receiving  screen  composed  of  in- 
numerable pencils  of  light  polarized  and  acting  on  a 
set  of  mirrors,  each  corresponding  to  the  cells  of  the 
selenium  screen  and  tuned  to  them,  as  it  were,  a  thin 
film  or  veil  seemed  gradually  to  clear  up,  as  the  tele- 
phote slowly  got  itself  into  equilibrium  at  both  ends 
of  the  air  line.  Gradually  the  face  of  a  girl  appeared. 

"Gloria!"  gasped  Mrs.  Brackett  in  a  tone  that 
sounded  as  if  ten  years  had  been  added  to  her  life. 

' '  Wait, ' '  cautioned  the  operator.  ' '  There  is  a  writ- 
ten message  to  follow. ' ' 

On  the  same  screen  now  came  in  letters  that  Mrs. 
Brackett  in  her  joy  recognized  the  message:  "I 
couldn't  help  it.  I  was  blackmailed  into  taking  the 
necklace.  Even  at  the  hunt  I  received  another  de- 
mand. I  did  not  mean  to  go,  but  I  was  carried  off 
by  force  before  I  could  pay  the  second  demand.  Now 
I'm  glad  of  it.  Forgive  us.  Gloria." 

"Us?"  repeated  Mrs.  Brackett,  not  comprehending. 

"Look — another  picture,"  pointed  Kennedy. 


30  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

We  bent  over  as  the  face  of  a  man  seemed  to  dissolve 
more  clearly  in  place  of  the  writing. 

"Thank  God!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Brackett  fervently, 
reading  the  face  by  a  sort  of  intuition  before  it  cleared 
enough  for  us  to  recognize.  "He  has  saved  her  from 
herself!" 

It  was  Franconi ! 

Slowly  it  faded  and  in  its  place  appeared  another 
written  message. 

"Recalled  to  Italy  for  war  service.  I  took  her  with 
me  by  force.  It  was  the  only  way.  Civil  ceremony  in 
New  York  yesterday.  Religious  will  follow  at  Rome. ' ' 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   TANGO   THIEF 

"MY  husband  has  such  a  jealous  disposition.  He 
will  never  believe  the  truth — never!" 

Agatha  Seabury  moved  nervously  in  the  deep  easy 
chair  beside  Kennedy's  desk,  leaning  forward,  uncom- 
fortably, the  tense  lines  marring  the  beauty  of  her 
fine  features. 

Kennedy  tilted  his  desk  chair  back  in  order  to  study 
her  face. 

"You  say  you  have  never  written  a  line  to  the  fel- 
low nor  he  to  you  1 ' '  he  asked. 

"Not  a  line,  not  a  scrap, — until  I  received  that 
typewritten  letter  about  which  I  just  told  you, "  she  re- 
peated vehemently,  meeting  his  penetrating  gaze  with- 
out flinching.  "Why,  Professor  Kennedy,  as  heaven 
is  my  witness,  I  have  never  done  a  wrong  thing— ex- 
cept to  meet  him  now  and  then  at  afternoon  dances." 

I  felt  that  the  nerve-racked  society  woman  before  us 
must  be  either  telling  the  truth  or  else  that  she  was 
one  of  the  cleverest  actresses  I  had  ever  seen. 

"Have  you  the  letter  here?"  asked  Craig  quickly. 

Mrs.  Seabury  reached  into  her  neat  leather  party 
case  and  pulled  out  a  carefully  folded  sheet  of  note 
paper. 

It  was  all  typewritten,  down  to  the  very  signature 
itself.  Evidently  the  blackmailer  had  taken  every 
precaution  to  protect  himself,  for  even  if  the  type- 

31 


32  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

writing  could  be  studied  and  identified,  it  would  be 
next  to  impossible  to  get  at  the  writer  through  it  and 
locate  the  machine  on  which  it  was  written  among  the 
thousands  in  the  city. 

Kennedy  studied  the  letter  carefully,  then,  with  a 
low  exclamation,  handed  it  over  to  me,  nodding  to 
Mrs.  Seabury  that  it  was  all  right  for  me  to  see  it. 

"No  ordinary  fellow,  I'm  afraid,"  he  commented 
musingly,  adding,  "this  thief  of  reputations." 

I  read,  beginning  with  the  insolent  familiarity  of 
"Dear  Agatha." 

"I  hope  you  will  pardon  me  for  writing  to  you," 
the  letter  continued,  ' '  but  I  find  that  I  am  in  a  rather 
difficult  position  financially.  As  you  know,  in  the 
present  disorganized  state  of  the  stock  market,  invest- 
ments which  in  normal  times  are  good  are  now  almost 
valueless.  Still,  I  must  protect  those  I  already  have 
without  sacrificing  them. 

"  It  is  therefore  necessary  that  I  raise  fifty  thousand 
dollars  before  the  end  of  the  week,  and  I  know  of  no 
one  to  appeal  to  but  you — who  have  shared  so  many 
pleasant  stolen  hours  with  me. 

"Of  course,  I  understand  all  that  you  have  told 
me  about  Mr.  Seabury  and  his  violent  nature.  Still,  I 
feel  sure  that  one  of  your  wealth  and  standing  in  the 
community  can  find  a  way  to  avoid  all  trouble  from 
that  quarter.  Naturally,  I  should  prefer  to  take  every 
precaution  to  prevent  the  fact  of  our  intimacy  from 
coming  to  Mr.  Seabury 's  knowledge.  But  I  am  really 
desperate  and  feel  that  you  alone  can  help  me. 

' '  Hoping  to  hear  from  you  soon,  I  am, 
"Your  old  tango  friend, 

"H.  MORGAN  SHERBURNE." 

I  fairly  gasped  at  the  thinly  veiled  threat  of  ex- 
posure at  the  end  of  the  note  from  this  artistic  black- 
mailer. 


THE  TANGO  THIEF  33 

She  was  watching  our  faces  anxiously  as  we  read. 

"Oh,"  she  cried  wildly,  glancing  from  one  to  the 
other  of  us,  strangers  to  whom  in  her  despair  she  had 
been  forced  to  bare  the  secrets  of  her  proud  heart, 
"he's  so  clever  about  it,  too.  I — I  didn't  know  what 
to  do.  I  had  only  my  jewels.  I  thought  of  all  the 
schemes  I  had  ever  read,  of  pawning  them,  of  having 
paste  replicas  made,  of  trying  to  collect  the  burglary 
insurance,  of — " 

"But  you  didn't  do  anything  like  that,  did  you?" 
interrupted  Craig  hastily. 

"No,  no,"  she  cried.  "I  thought  if  I  did,  then  it 
wouldn't  be  long  before  this  Sherburne  would  be  back 
again  for  more.  Oh,"  she  almost  wailed,  dabbing  at 
the  genuine  tears  with  her  dainty  lace  handkerchief 
while  her  shoulders  trembled  with  a  repressed  convul- 
sive sob,  "I — I  am  utterly  wretched — crushed." 

' '  The  scoundrel ! "  I  muttered. 

Kennedy  shook  his  head  at  me  slowly.  "Calling 
names  won 't  help  matters  now, ' '  he  remarked  tersely. 
Then  in  an  encouraging  tone  he  added,  "You  have 
done  just  the  right  thing,  Mrs.  Seabury,  in  not  start- 
ing to  pay  the  blackmail.  The  secret  of  the  success 
of  these  fellows  is  that  their  victims  prefer  losing 
jewelry  and  money  to  going  to  the  police  and  having  a 
lot  of  unpleasant  notoriety. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  know  that,"  she  agreed  hastily,  "but — my 
husband !  If  he  hears,  he  will  believe  the  worst,  and — 
I — I  really  love  and  respect  Judson — though,"  she 
added,  "he  might  have  seen  that  I  liked  dancing  and 
— innocent  amusements  of  the  sort  still.  I  am  not  an 
old  woman. ' ' 

I  could  not  help  wondering  if  the  whole  truth  were 


34  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

told  in  her  rather  plaintive  remark,  or  whether  she 
was  overplaying  what  was  really  a  minor  complaint. 
Judson  Seabury,  I  knew  from  hearsay,  was  a  man  of 
middle  age  to  whom,  as  to  so  many,  business  and  the 
making  of  money  had  loomed  as  large  as  life  itself. 
Competitors  had  even  accused  him  of  being  ruthless 
when  he  was  convinced  that  he  was  right,  and  I  could 
well  imagine  that  Mrs.  Seabury  was  right  in  her  judg- 
ment of  the  nature  of  the  man  if  he  became  convinced 
for  any  reason  that  someone  had  crossed  his  path  in 
his  relations  with  his  wife. 

"Where  did  you  usually — er — meet  Sherburne?" 
asked  Craig,  causually  guiding  the  conversation. 

"Why — at  the  Vanderveer — always,"  she  replied. 

"Would  you  mind  meeting  him  there  again  this 
afternoon  so  that  I  could  see  him?"  asked  Kennedy. 
"Perhaps  it  would  be  best,  anyhow,  to  let  him  think 
that  you  are  going  to  do  as  he  demands,  so  that  we 
can  gain  a  little  time." 

She  looked  up,  startled.  "Yes — I  can  do  that — but 
don't  you  think  it  is  risky?  Do  you  think  there  is  any 
way  I  can  get  free  from  him  ?  Suppose  he  makes  a  new 
demand.  What  shall  I  do?  Oh,  Professor  Kennedy, 
you  do  not,  you  cannot  know  what  I  am  going  through 
— how  I  hate  and  fear  him." 

"Mrs.  Seabury,"  reassured  Craig  earnestly,  "I'll 
take  up  your  case.  Clever  as  the  man  is,  there  must 
be  some  way  to  get  at  him. ' ' 

Sherburne  must  have  exercised  a  sort  of  fascination 
over  her,  for  the  look  of  relief  that  crossed  her  face 
as  Kennedy  promised  to  aid  her  was  almost  painful. 
As  often  before,  I  could  scarcely  envy  Kennedy  in  his 
ready  assumption  of  another's  problems  that  seemed 


THE  TANGO  THIEF  35 

so  baffling.  It  meant  little,  perhaps,  to  us  whether  we 
succeeded.  But  to  her  it  meant  happiness,  perhaps 
honor  itself. 

It  was  as  though  she  were  catching  at  a  life  line  in 
the  swirling  current  of  events  that  had  engulfed  her. 
She  hesitated  no  longer. 

"I'll  be  there — I'll  meet  him — at  four,"  she  mur- 
mured, as  she  rose  and  made  a  hurried  departure. 

For  some  time  after  she  had  gone,  Kennedy  sat  con- 
sidering what  she  had  told  us.  As  for  myself,  I  cannot 
say  that  I  was  thoroughly  satisfied  that  she  had  told 
all.  It  was  not  to  be  expected. 

"How  do  you  figure  that  woman  out?"  I  queried  at 
length. 

Kennedy  looked  at  me  keenly  from  under  knitted 
brows.  "You  mean,  do  I  believe  her  story — of  her 
relations  with  this  fellow,  Sherbourne?"  he  returned, 
thoughtfully. 

"Exactly,"  I  assented,  "and  what  she  said  about 
her  regard  for  her  husband,  too." 

Kennedy  did  not  reply  for  a  few  minutes.  Evi- 
dently the  same  question  had  been  in  his  own  mind 
and  he  had  not  reasoned  out  the  answer.  Before  he 
could  reply  the  door  buzzer  sounded  and  the  colored 
boy  from  the  lower  hall  handed  a  card  to  Craig,  with 
an  apology  about  the  house  telephone  switchboard 
being  out  of  order. 

As  Kennedy  laid  the  card  on  the  table  before  us, 
with  a  curt  "Show  the  gentleman  in,"  to  the  boy,  I 
looked  at  it  in  blank  amazement. 

It  read,  "Judson  Seabury." 

Before  I  could  utter  a  word  of  comment  on  the 
strange  coincidence,  the  husband  was  sitting  in  the 


36  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

same  chair  in  which  his  wife  had  sat  less  than  half  an 
hour  before. 

Judson  Seabury  was  a  rather  distinguished  looking 
man  of  the  solid,  business  type.  Merely  to  meet  his 
steel  gray  eye  was  enough  to  tell  one  that  this  man 
would  brook  no  rivalry  in  anything  he  undertook.  I 
foresaw  trouble,  even  though  I  could  not  define  its 
nature. 

Craig  twirled  the  card  in  his  fingers,  as  if  to  refresh 
his  mind  on  a  name  otherwise  unfamiliar.  I  was  won- 
dering whether  Seabury  might  not  have  trailed  his 
wife  to  our  office  and  have  come  to  demand  an  explana- 
tion. It  was  with  some  relief  that  I  found  he  had  not. 

"Professor  Kennedy,"  he  began  nervously,  hitching 
his  chair  closer,  without  further  introduction,  in  the 
manner  of  a  man  who  was  accustomed  to  having  his 
own  way  in  any  matter  he  undertook,  "I  am  in  a  most 
peculiar  situation." 

Seabury  paused  a  moment,  Kennedy  nodded  acqui- 
escence, and  the  man  suddenly  blurted  out,  "I — I 
don't  know  whether  I'm  being  slowly  poisoned  or 
not!" 

The  revelation  was  startling  enough  in  itself,  but 
doubly  so  after  the  interview  that  had  just  preceded. 

I  covered  my  own  surprise  by  a  quick  glance  at 
Craig.  His  face  was  impassive  as  he  narrowly 
searched  Seabury 's.  I  knew,  though,  that  back  of  his 
assumed  calm,  Craig  was  doing  some  rapid  thinking 
about  the  ethics  of  listening  to  both  parties  in  the  case. 
However,  he  said  nothing.  Indeed,  Seabury,  once 
started,  hurried  on,  scarcely  giving  him  a  chance  to 
interrupt. 

"I  may  as  well  tell  you,"  he  proceeded,  with  the 


THE  TANGO  THIEF  37 

air  of  a  man  who  for  the  first  time  is  relieving  his  mind 
of  something  that  has  been  weighing  heavily  on  him, 
"that  for  some  time  I  have  not  been  exactly — er — 
easy  in  my  mind  about  the  actions  of  my  wife. ' ' 

Evidently  he  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  to  tell 
what  worried  him,  and  must  say  it,  for  he  continued 
immediately:  "It's  not  that  I  actually  know  anything 
about  any  indiscretions  on  Agatha's  part,  but, — well, 
there  have  been  little  things — hints  that  she  was  going 
frequently  to  tlies  dansants,  and  that  sort  of  thing, 
you  know.  Lately,  too,  I  have  seen  a  change  in  her 
manner  toward  me,  I  fancy.  Sometimes  I  think  she 
seems  to  avoid  me,  especially  during  the  last  few  days. 
Then  again,  as  this  morning,  she  seems  to  be — er — too 
solicitous. ' ' 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead,  as  if  to  clear 
it.  For  once  he  did  not  seem  to  be  the  self-confident 
man  who  had  at  first  entered  our  apartment.  I  noticed 
that  he  had  a  peculiar  look,  a  feeble  state  of  the  body 
which  he  was  at  times  at  pains  to  conceal,  a  look  which 
the  doctors  call,  I  believe,  cachectic. 

"I  mean,"  he  added  hastily,  as  if  it  might  as  well 
be  said  first  as  last,  "that  she  seems  to  be  much  con- 
cerned about  my  health,  my  food — " 

"Just  what  is  it  that  you  actually  know,  not  what 
you  fear?"  interrupted  Kennedy,  perhaps  a  little 
brusquely,  at  last  having  seen  a  chance  to  insert  a 
word  edgewise  into  the  flow  of  Seabury  's  troubles,  real 
•or  imaginary. 

Seabury  paused  a  moment,  then  resumed  with  a  de- 
scription of  his  health,  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  by 
no  means  reassuring. 

"Well,"  he  answered  slowly,  "I  suffer  a  good  deal 


38  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

from  such  terrible  dyspepsia,  Professor  Kennedy.  My 
stomach  and  digestion  are  all  upset — bad  health  and 
growing  weakness — pain,  discomfort — vomiting  after 
meals,  even  bleeding.  I  've  tried  all  sorts  of  cures,  but 
still  I  can  feel  that  I  am  still  losing  health  and 
strength,  and,  so  far,  at  least,  the  doctors  don't  seem 
to  be  doing  me  much  good.  I  have  begun  to  wonder 
whether  it  is  a  case  for  the  doctors,  after  all.  Why, 
the  whole  thing  is  getting  on  my  nerves  so  that  I'm 
almost  afraid  to  eat, ' '  he  concluded. 

"You  have  eaten  nothing  today,  then,  I  am  to  un- 
derstand?" asked  Craig  when  Seabury  had  finished 
with  his  minute  and  puzzling  account  of  his  troubles. 

"Not  even  breakfast  this  morning,"  he  replied. 
"Mrs.  Seabury  urged  me  to  eat,  but — I — I  couldn't." 

' '  Good ! ' '  exclaimed  Kennedy,  much  to  our  surprise. 
"That  will  make  it  just  so  much  easier  to  use  a  test  I 
have  in  mind  to  determine  whether  there  is  anything 
in  your  suspicions. ' ' 

He  had  risen  and  gone  over  to  a  cabinet. 

"Would  you  mind  baring  your  arm  a  moment?"  he 
asked  Seabury. 

With  a  sharp  little  instrument,  carefully  sterilized, 
Craig  pricked  a  vein  in  the  man's  arm.  Slowly  a  few 
drops  of  darkened  venous  blood  welled  out.  A  mo- 
ment later  Kennedy  caught  them  in  a  sterile  test  tube 
and  sealed  the  tube. 

Before  our  second  visitor  could  start  again  in  re- 
tailing his  suspicions  which  now  seemed  definitely,  in 
his  own  mind  at  least,  directed  in  some  way  against 
Mrs.  Seabury,  Kennedy  skillfully  closed  the  interview. 

"I  feel  sure  that  the  test  I  shall  make  will  tell  me 
positively,  soon,  whether  your  fears  are  well  grounded 


THE  TANGO  THIEF  39 

or  not,  Mr.  Seabury,"  he  concluded  briefly,  as  he  ac- 
companied the  man  out  into  the  hall  to  shake  hands 
farewell  with  him  at  the  elevator  door.  "I'll  let  you 
know  as  soon  as  anything  develops,  but  until  we  have 
something  tangible  there  is  no  use  wasting  our 
energies." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  "THE  DANSANT" 

I  FELT,  however,  that  Seabury  accepted  this  conclu- 
sion reluctantly,  in  fact  with  a  sort  of  mental  reserva- 
tion not  to  cease  activity  himself. 

The  remainder  of  the  forenoon,  and  for  some  time 
during  the  early  afternoon,  Craig  plunged  into  one  of 
his  periods  of  intense  work  and  abstraction  at  the 
laboratory. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  most  unusual  and  delicate  test 
which  he  was  making.  For  one  thing,  I  noticed  that 
he  had,  in  a  sterilizer,  some  peculiar  granular  tissue 
that  had  been  sent  to  him  from  a  hospital.  This  tissue 
he  was  very  careful  to  cleanse  of  blood  and  then  by 
repeated  boilings  prepare  for  whatever  use  he  had  in 
mind. 

As  for  myself,  I  could  only  stand  aside  and  watch 
his  preparations  in  silence.  Among  the  many  peculiar 
pieces  of  apparatus  which  he  had,  I  recall  one  that 
consisted  of  a  glass  cylinder  with  a  siphon  tube  run- 
ning into  it  halfway  up  the  outside.  Inside  was 
another,  smaller  cylinder.  All  about  him  as  he  pro- 
ceeded were  glass  containers,  capillary  pipettes,  test 
tubes,  Bunsen  burners,  and  dialyzers  of  porous  parch- 
ment paper  whose  wrappers  described  them  as  "per- 
meable for  peptones,  but  not  for  albumins. ' ' 

Carefully  set  aside  was  the  blood  which  he  had 
drawn  from  Seabury 's  veins,  allowed  to  stand  till  the 

40 


THE  "THE  DANS  ANT"  41 

serum  separated  out  from  the  clot.  Next  he  pipetted 
it  into  a  centrifuge  tube  and  centrifuged  it  at  high 
speed,  some  sixteen  thousand  revolutions,  until  the 
serum  was  perfectly  clear,  with  no  trace  of  a  reddish 
tint,  nor  even  cloudy.  After  that  he  drew  off  the 
serum  into  a  little  tube,  covered  it  with  a  layer  of  a 
substance  called  toluol  from  another  sterile  pipette, 
and  finally  placed  it  in  an  incubator  at  a  temperature 
of  about  ninety-eight. 

It  was  well  along  toward  four  o'clock  when  he  paused 
as  if  some  mental  alarm  clock  had  awakened  him  to 
another  part  of  the  plan  of  action  he  had  laid  out. 

"Walter,"  he  remarked,  hastily  doffing  his  stained 
old  laboratory  coat,  ' '  I  think  we  'd  better  drop  around 
to  the  Vanderveer." 

Curious  as  I  had  been  at  the  preparations  he  was 
making  in  the  laboratory,  I  was  still  glad  at  even  the 
suggestion  of  something  that  my  less  learned  mind 
could  understand  and  it  was  not  many  seconds  before 
we  were  on  our  way. 

Through  the  lobby  of  the  famous  new  hostelry  we 
slowly  lounged  along,  then  down  a  passage  into  the 
tea  room,  where,  in  the  center  of  a  circle  of  quaint 
little  wicker  chairs  and  tables,  was  a  glossy  dancing 
floor. 

Kennedy  selected  a  table  not  in  the  circle,  but 
around  an  "L,"  inconspicuously  located  so  that  we 
could  watch  the  dancing  without  ourselves  being 
watched. 

At  one  end  of  the  room  an  excellent  orchestra  was 
playing.  I  gazed  about,  fascinated.  At  the  dancing 
tea  was  represented,  apparently,  much  wealth — 
women  whose  throats  and  fingers  glittered  with  gold 


42  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

and  gems,  men  whose  very  air  exuded  prosperity— or 
at  least  its  veneer. 

About  it  all  was  the  glamor  of  the  risque.  One  felt 
a  sort  of  compromising  familiarity  in  this  breaking 
down  of  old  social  restraints  through  the  insidious 
influence  of  the  tea  room,  with  its  accompaniments  of 
music  and  dancing. 

"I  suppose,"  remarked  Craig  after  we  had  for  some 
time  settled  ourselves  and  watched  the  brilliant  scene, 
"that,  like  many  others,  Walter,  you  have  often  won- 
dered whether  these  modern  dances  are  actually  as 
stimulating  as  they  seem. ' ' 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders  noncommittally. 

"Well,  there  is  what  psychologists  might  call  a  real 
dance  neurosis,"  he  went  on,  contemplatively,  toying 
with  a  glass.  "In  fact  few  persons  can  withstand  the 
physical  effect  of  the  peculiar  rhythm,  the  close  con- 
tact, and  the  sinuous  movements — at  least  where,  so 
to  speak,  the  surroundings  are  suggestive  and  the* 
dance  becomes  less  restrained  and  more  sensuous,  as 
it  does  often  in  circumstances  like  these,  often  among 
strangers. ' ' 

The  music  had  started  again  and  one  after  another 
couples  seemed  to  float  past  in  unhesitating  hesitation 
— dowager  and  debutante,  dandy  and  doddering  octo- 
genarian. 

"Why,"  he  exclaimed,  looking  out  at  the  whirling 
kaleidoscope,  "here  in  the  most  advanced  epoch,  peo- 
ple of  culture  and  intelligence  frankly  say  they  are 
'wild'  for  something  primitive." 

"Still,"  I  objected,  "dancing  even  in  the  wild, 
stimulating  emotional  manner  you  see  here  need  not 
be  merely  an  incitement  to  love,  need  it  ?  May  it  not 


THE  "THE  DANS  ANT"  43 

be  a  normal  gratification  of  the  love  instinct — eroti- 
cism translated  into  rhythm?  Perhaps  it  may  repre- 
sent sex,  but  not  necessarily  badly." 

Kennedy  nodded.  "Undoubtedly  the  effect  of  the 
dances  is  in  direct  ratio  to  the  sexual  temperament  of 
the  dancer, ' '  he  admitted. 

He  paused  and  again  watched  the  whirl. 

"Does  Mrs.  Seabury  herself  understand  it?"  he 
mused,  only  half  speaking  to  me.  "I'm  sure  that 
this  Sherburne  is  clever  enough  to  do  so,  at  any  rate." 

A  hearty  round  of  applause  came  from  the  dancers 
as  the  music  ceased.  None  left  the  floor,  however,  but 
remained  waiting  for  the  encore  eagerly,  scarcely 
changing  the  positions  in  which  they  had  stopped. 

"To  my  mind,"  Kennedy  resumed,  with  the  music, 
"several  things  seem  significant.  Many  people  have 
noticed  that  after  marriage  women  generally  lose 
much  of  their  ardor  for  dancing.  I  feel  that  it  is  an 
unsafe  matter  on  which  to  generalize,  but — well — 
Mrs.  Seabury  seems  not  to  have  lost  it. ' ' 

"Then,"  I  inquired  quickly,  "you  imply  that — she 
is  not  really  as  much  in  love  with  her  husband  as  she 
would  have  us  think — or,  perhaps,  herself  believes?" 

"Not  quite  that,"  he  replied  doubtfully.  "But  I 
am  wondering  whether  there  is  such  a  factor  that 
must  be  considered." 

Before  I  could  answer  Kennedy  touched  my  arm. 
Instinctively  I  followed  the  direction  of  his  eye  and 
saw  Mrs.  Seabury  step  out  on  the  floor  across  from  us. 
Without  a  word  from  Craig,  I  realized  that  the  man 
with  her  must  be  Sherburne,  our  "tango  thief." 

Fashionably  dressed,  affable,  seemingly  superficially, 
at  least,  well  educated,  tall,  graceful,  with  easy  man- 


44  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

ners,  I  could  not  help  seeing  at  a  glance  that  he  was 
one  of  the  most  erotic  dancers  on  the  little  floor. 

As  they  passed  near  us,  Mrs.  Seabury  caught  Ken- 
nedy's eye  in  momentary  recognition.  Her  face, 
flushed  with  the  dance,  colored  perhaps  a  shade 
deeper,  but  not  noticeably  to  her  partner,  who  was 
devoting  himself  wholly  and  skillfully  to  leading  her 
in  a  manner  that  one  could  see  called  forth  frequent 
comment  from  others,  less  favored. 

As  they  sat  down  after  this  dance  and  the  encore, 
Craig  motioned  to  the  waiter  at  our  table  and  whis- 
pered to  him. 

A  few  moments  later,  a  man  whom  I  had  seen 
around  the  hotel  on  my  infrequent  visits,  but  did  not 
know,  slipped  quietly  into  a  seat  beside  Kennedy, 
even  deeper  in  the  shadow  of  the  recess  in  which  we 
were  sitting. 

"Walter,  I'd  like  to  have  you  meet  Mr.  Dunn,  the 
house  detective,"  whispered  Kennedy  under  his 
breath. 

The  usual  interchange  of  remarks  followed,  during 
which  Dunn  was  evidently  waiting  for  Kennedy  to 
reveal  the  real  purpose  of  our  visit. 

"By  the  way,  Dunn,"  remarked  Craig  at  length, 
"who  is  that  fellow — over  there  with  the  woman  in 
blue — the  fellow  with  the  heavy  braided  coat?" 

Dunn  craned  his  neck  cautiously,  then  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  "I've  seen  him  here  with  her  before," 
he  remarked.  "I  don't  know  him,  though.  Why?" 

Briefly  Kennedy  sketched  such  facts  of  a  supposedly 
hypothetical  case  as  would  be  likely  to  secure  an 
opinion  from  the  house  man.  Dunn  narrowed  his 
eyes  thoughtfully. 


THE  "THE  DANSANT"  45 

"That's  rather  a  ticklish  situation,  Kennedy," 
Dunn  remarked  when  Craig  had  stated  the  case,  omit- 
ting all  reference  to  Seabury's  name  as  well  as  his 
suspicions.  "Of  course,"  he  went  on,  "I  know  we've 
got  to  protect  the  name  of  the  hotel.  And  I  know  we 
can't  have  men  meeting  our  women  patrons,  doing  a 
gavotte  or  two — and  then  fox-trotting  them  into  black- 
mail." 

Dunn  stroked  his  chin  thoughtfully.  "You  see,  we 
can  do  a  great  deal  to  suppress  card  sharps,  agents 
for  fake  mining  stocks,  passers  of  worthless  checks, 
and  confidence  men  of  that  sort.  But  it  is  not  so 
simple  to  thwart  the  vultures  who  prey  on  the  gulli- 
bility and  passions  of  the  so-called  idle  rich. ' ' 

' '  There  must  be  something  you  can  do  to  get  it  on 
this  fellow,  though, ' '  persisted  Craig. 

"Well,"  considered  the  house  man,  "we  have  what 
might  be  called  our  hotel  secret  service — several  men 
and  women  operating  entirely  apart  from  the  hotel 
force  of  detectives  who,  like  myself,  are  too  well 
known  to  clever  crooks.  Nobody  knows  them,  except 
myself.  There's  one — that  girl  over  there  dancing 
with  that  middle-aged  man  who  has  mail  sent  here 
but  doesn  't  live  here.  Could  they  be  of  use  ? ' ' 

"Just  the  thing,"  exclaimed  Craig  enthusiastically. 
"Can't  you  have  her  get  acquainted — just  as  a  pre- 
caution— with  that  man?  His  name,  by  the  way,  I 
understand  is  Sherburne." 

"I'll  do  it,"  agreed  Dunn,  rising  unostentatiously. 

Just  then  I  happened  to  glance  across  the  floor  and 
over  the  heads  of  those  seated  at  the  tables  at  a  door 
opposite  us.  It  was  my  turn  hastily  to  seize  Ken- 
nedy's elbow. 


46  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"Good  God!"  I  exclaimed  involuntarily. 

There,  in  the  further  doorway  of  the  tea  room,  stood 
Judson  Seabury  himself! 

Without  a  word,  Craig  rose  and  quickly  crossed  the 
dancing  floor,  stopping  before  Mrs.  Seabury 's  table. 
Instead  of  waiting  to  be  introduced,  he  sat  down 
deliberately,  as  though  he  had  been  there  all  the  time 
and  had  just  gone  out  of  the  room  and  come  back. 
He  did  it  all  so  quickly  that  he  was  able  in  a  perfectly 
natural  way  to  turn  and  see  that  Seabury  himself  had 
been  watching  and  now  was  advancing  slowly,  picking 
his  way  among  the  crowded  tables. 

From  around  my  corner  I  saw  Craig  whisper  a  word 
or  two  to  Mrs.  Seabury,  then  rise  and  meet  Seabury 
less  than  halfway  from  the  door  by  which  he  had  been 
standing. 

The  tension  of  the  situation  was  too  much  for  Mrs. 
Seabury.  Confounded  and  bewildered,  she  fled  pre- 
cipitately, passing  within  a  few  feet  of  my  table.  Her 
face  was  positively  ghastly. 

As  for  Sherburne,  he  merely  sat  a  moment  and  sur- 
veyed the  irate  husband  with  calm  and  studied  inso- 
lence at  a  safe  distance.  Then  he,  too,  rose  and 
turned  deliberately  on  his  heel. 

Curious  to  know  how  Craig  would  meet  the 
dilemma,  I  watched  eagerly  and  was  surprised  to  see 
Seabury,  after  a  moment's  whispered  talk,  turn  and 
leave  the  tea  room,  by  the  same  door  through  which 
he  had  entered. 

"What  did  you  do?"  I  asked,  as  Craig  rejoined  me 
a  few  moments  later.  "What  did  you  say?  My  hat's 
off  to  you,"  I  added  in  admiration. 

"Told  him  I  had  trailed  her  here  with  one  of  my 


THE  "THE  DANS  ANT "  47 

operatives,  but  was  convinced  there  was  nothing 
wrong,  after  all,"  he  returned. 

"You  mean,"  I  asked  as  the  result  of  Craig's  quick 
thinking  dawned  on  me,  "that  you  told  him  Sher- 
burne  was  your  operative?" 

Kennedy  nodded.  "I  want  to  see  him,  now,  if  I 
can,"  he  said  simply. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  SERUM  DIAGNOSIS 

WE  paid  our  check  and  Kennedy  and  I  sauntered 
in  the  direction  Sherburne  had  taken,  finding  him 
ultimately  in  the  cafe,  alone.  Without  further  intro- 
duction Kennedy  approached  him. 

"So — you  are  a  detective?"  sneered  Sherburne 
superciliously,  elevating  his  eyebrows  just  the  fraction 
of  an  inch. 

"Not  exactly,"  parried  Kennedy,  seating  himself 
beside  Sherburne.  Then  in  a  tone  as  if  he  were  will- 
ing to  get  down,  without  further  preliminary,  to  busi- 
ness, seemingly  negotiating,  he  asked:  "Mr.  Sher- 
burne, may  I  ask  just  what  it  is  on  which  you  base 
your  claim  on  Mrs.  Seabury?  Is  it  merely  meeting 
her  here?  If  that  is  so  you  must  know  that  it 
amounts  to  nothing — now." 

The  two  men  faced  each  other,  each  taking  the 
other's  measure. 

"Nothing?"  coolly  retorted  Sherburne.  "Perhaps 
not — in  itself.  But — suppose — I — had — " 

He  said  the  words  slowly,  as  he  fumbled  in  his  fob 
pocket,  then  cut  them  short  as  he  found  what  he  was 
looking  for.  Safely,  in  the  palm  of  his  hand,  he  dis- 
played a  latch-key,  momentarily,  then  with  a  taunting 
smile  dropped  it  back  again  into  the  fob  pocket. 

"Perhaps  she  gave  it  to  me — perhaps  I  was  a  wel- 
come visitor  in  her  apartment, ' '  he  insinuated.  ' '  How 

48 


THE  SERUM  DIAGNOSIS  49 

would  she  relish  having  that  told  to  Mr.  Seabury — 
backed  up  by  the  possession  of  the  key  ? ' ' 

I  could  not  help  feeling  that  for  the  moment  Ken- 
nedy was  checkmated.  Sherburne  was  playing  a  des- 
perate game  and  apparently  held  the  key,  however  he 
got  it,  as  a  trump  card. 

"Thank  you,"  was  all  that  Kennedy  said,  as  he 
rose.  "I  wanted  to  know  how  far  you  could  go. 
Perhaps  we  can  meet  you  halfway. ' ' 

Sherburne  smiled  cynically.  "All  the  way,"  he 
said  quietly,  as  we  left  the  cafe. 

In  silence  Kennedy  left  the  hotel  and  jumped  into 
a  cab,  directing  the  driver  to  the  laboratory,  where  he 
had  asked  Mrs.  Seabury  to  wait  for  him.  We  found 
her  there,  still  much  agitated. 

Hastily  Craig  explained  to  her  how  he  had  saved 
the  situation,  but  her  mind  was  too  occupied  over 
something  else  to  pay  much  attention. 

"I — I  can't  blame  you,  Professor  Kennedy,"  she 
cried,  choking  down  a  sob  in  her  voice,  "but  I  have 
just  discovered — he  has  told  me  that  it  is  even  worse 
than  I  had  anticipated. ' ' 

We  were  both  following  her  closely,  the  incident  of 
the  latch-key  still  fresh  in  mind. 

"Some  time  ago,"  she  hurried  on,  "I  missed  my 
latch-key.  I  thought  nothing  of  it  at  the  time — 
thought  perhaps  I  had  mislaid  it.  But  today  he  told 
me — just  after  the  dance,  even  while  I  was  making 
him  think  I  would  pay  him  the  money,  because — be- 
cause I  liked  him — he  told  me  he  had  it.  The  brute ! 
He  must  have  picked  my  handbag ! ' ' 

Her  eyes  were  blazing  now  with  indignation.  Yet 
as  she  looked  at  us  both,  evidently  the  recollection  of 


50  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

what  had  just  happened  came  flooding  over  her  mind, 
and  she  dropped  her  head  in  her  hands  in  helpless 
dismay  at  the  new  development. 

Craig  pulled  out  his  watch  hastily.  "It  is  about 
six,  Mrs.  Seabury, ' '  he  reassured.  ' '  Can  you  be  here 
at,  say,  eight?" 

"I  will  be  here,"  she  murmured  pliantly,  realizing 
her  own  helplessness. 

She  had  scarcely  closed  the  door  when  Craig  seized 
the  telephone,  and  hurriedly  tried  to  locate  Seabury 
himself. 

"Apparently  no  trace  of  him  yet,"  he  fumed,  as 
he  hung  up  the  receiver.  "The  first  problem  is  how 
to  get  that  key." 

Instantly  I  thought  of  Dunn's  secret  service  girl. 
Kennedy  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  "I'm  afraid 
there  is  no  time  for  that,"  he  answered.  "But  will 
you  attend  to  that  end  of  the  affair  for  me,  Walter? 
I  have  just  a  little  more  work  here  at  the  laboratory 
before  I  am  ready.  I  don't  care  how  you  do  it,  but  I 
want  you  to  convey  to  Sherburne  the  welcome  news 
that  Mrs.  Seabury  is  prepared  to  give  in,  in  any  way 
he  may  see  fit,  if  he  will  call  her  up  here  at  eight 
o'clock." 

Kennedy  had  already  plunged  back  among  his 
beakers  and  test  tubes,  and  with  these  slender  instruc- 
tions I  sallied  forth  in  my  quest  of  Sherburne.  I  had 
little  difficulty  in  locating  him  and  delivering  my 
message,  which  he  received  with  a  satisfaction  that 
invited  assault  and  battery  and  mayhem.  However, 
I  managed  to  restrain  myself  and  rejoin  Craig  in  the 
laboratory,  shortly  after  seven  o'clock. 

I  had  scarcely  had  time  to  assure  Kennedy  of  the 


THE  SERUM  DIAGNOSIS  51 

success  of  my  mission,  when  we  were  surprised  to  see 
the  door  open  and  Seabury  himself  appear. 

His  face  was  actually  haggard.  Whether  or  not  he 
had  believed  the  hastily  concocted  story  of  Kennedy 
at  the  Vanderveer,  his  mind  had  not  ceased  to  work 
on  the  other  fears  that  had  prompted  his  coming  to 
us  in  the  first  place. 

"I've  been  trying  to  locate  you  all  over,"  greeted 
Craig. 

Seabury  heaved  a  sigh  and  passed  his  hand,  with 
its  familiar  motion,  over  his  forehead.  "I  thought 
perhaps  you  might  be  able  to  find  out  something  from 
this  stuff,"  he  answered,  unwrapping  a  package 
which  he  was  carrying.  "Some  samples  of  the  food 
I've  been  getting.  If  you  don't  find  anything  in  this, 
I  've  others  I  want  tested. ' ' 

As  I  looked  at  the  man's  drawn  face,  I  wondered 
whether  in  fact  there  might  be  something  in  his  fears. 
On  the  surface,  the  thing  did  indeed  seem  to  place 
Agatha  Seabury  in  a  bad  light.  At  the  sight  of  the 
key  in  Sherburne's  possession  I  had  grasped  at  the 
straw  that  he  might  have  conceived  some  diabolical 
plan  to  get  rid  of  Seabury  for  purposes  of  his  own. 
But  then,  I  reasoned,  would  he  have  been  so  free  in 
showing  the  key  if  he  had  realized  that  it  might  cast 
suspicion  on  himself?  I  was  forced  to  ask  myself 
again  whether  she  might,  in  her  hysterical  fear  of  ex- 
posure by  the  adroit  blackmailer,  have  really  at- 
tempted to  poison  her  husband. 

It  was  a  desperate  situation.  But  Kennedy  was 
apparently  ready  to  meet  it,  though  he  seemed  to  take 
no  great  interest  in  the  food  samples  Seabury  had  just 
brought. 


52  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

Instead  he  seemed  to  rely  wholly  on  the  tests  he  had 
already  begun  with  the  peculiar  tissue  I  had  seen  him 
boiling  and  the  blood  serum  derived  from  Seabury 
himself. 

"Without  a  word  he  took  three  tubes  from  the  incu- 
bator, in  which  I  had  seen  him  place  them  some  time 
before,  and,  as  they  stood  in  a  rack,  indicated  them 
lightly  with  his  finger. 

"I  think  I  can  clear  part  of  this  mystery  up  imme- 
diately," he  began,  speaking  more  to  himself  than  to 
Seabury  and  myself.  "Here  I  have  a  tested  dialyzer 
in  which  has  been  placed  a  half  cubic  centimeter  of 
pure  clear  serum.  Here  is  another  dialyzer  with  the 
same  amount  of  serum,  but  no  tissue,  such  as  Mr. 
Jameson  has  seen  me  place  in  this  first  one.  Here  is 
still  another  with  the  tissue  in  distilled  water,  but  no 
blood  serum.  I  have  placed  all  the  dialyzers  in  tubes 
of  distilled  water  and  all  are  covered  with  a  sub- 
stance known  as  toluol  and  corked  to  keep  them  from 
contamination. ' ' 

Kennedy  held  up  before  us  the  three  tubes  and  Sea- 
bury  gazed  on  them  with  a  sort  of  fascination,  scarcely 
believing  that  in  them  in  some  way  might  be  contained 
the  verdict  on  the  momentous  problem  that  troubled 
his  mind  and  might  perhaps  mean  life  or  death  to  him. 

Carefully  Kennedy  took  from  each  tube  a  few  cubic 
centimeters  of  the  dialyzate  and  into  each  he  poured 
a  little  liquid  from  a  tiny  vial  which  I  noticed  was 
labelled  "Ninhydrin." 

' '  This, ' '  he  explained  as  he  set  down  the  vial,  "  is  a 
substance  which  gives  a  colorless  solution  with  water, 
but  when  mixed  with  albumins,  peptones,  or  ammo- 
acids  becomes  violet  on  boiling.  Tube  number  three 


THE  SERUM  DIAGNOSIS  53 

must  remain  colorless.  Number  two  may  be  violet. 
Number  one  may  approximate  number  two  or  be  more 
deeply  colored.  If  one  and  two  are  about  the  same  I 
call  my  test  negative.  But  if  one  is  more  deeply  col- 
ored than  two,  then  it  is  positive.  The  other  tube  is 
the  control." 

Impatiently  we  waited  as  the  three  tubes  simmered 
over  the  heat.  What  would  they  show?  Seabury's 
eyes  were  glued  on  them,  his  hand  trembling  in  the 
presence  of  some  unknown  danger. 

Slowly  the  liquid  in  the  second  tube  turned  to  violet. 
But  more  rapidly  and  more  deeply  appeared  the  violet 
in  number  one.  The  test  was  positive. 

"What  is  it?"  gasped  Seabury  hoarsely,  leaning 
over  close. 

"This,"  exclaimed  Kennedy,  "is  the  famous  Ab- 
derhalden  test — serum-diagnosis — discovered  by  Pro- 
fessor Emile  Abderhalden  of  Halle.  It  rests  on  the 
fact  that  when  a  foreign  substance  comes  into  the 
blood,  the  blood  reacts,  with  the  formation  of  a  pro- 
tective ferment  produced  as  a  result  of  physiologic 
and  pathologic  conditions. 

"For  instance,"  he  went  on,  "a  certain  albumin 
always  produces  a  certain  ferment.  Presence  in  the 
blood  stream  of  blood-foreign  substances  calls  forth  a 
ferment  that  will  digest  them  and  split  them  into 
molecules.  The  forces  of  nature  form  and  mobilize 
directly  in  the  blood  serum. 

"Let  me  get  this  clearly.  Albumin  cannot  pass 
through  the  pores  of  an  animal  membrane,  since  the 
individual  molecules  are  too  large.  If,  however,  the 
albumin  is  broken  up  by  a  ferment-action,  then  the 
molecules  become  small  enough  to  pass  through. ' ' 


54  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

Seabury  was  listening  like  a  man  on  whom  a  stun- 
ning blow  was  about  to  descend. 

"Thus  we  can  tell,"  proceeded  Kennedy,  "whether 
there  is  such  a  ferment  in  blood  serum  as  would  be 
produced  by  a  certain  condition,  for  when  the  fer- 
ment is  there  blood  from  the  individual  possessing  it 
will  digest  a  similar  proteid  in  a  dialyzing  thimble 
kept  at  body  temperature. 

"Why,"  cried  Kennedy,  swept  along  by  the  wonder 
of  the  thing,  "this  test  opens  up  a  vista  of  alluring 
and  extensive  possibilities.  The  human  organism 
actually  diagnoses  its  own  illnesses  automatically.  It 
is  infinitely  more  exact,  more  rapid,  and  more  certain 
than  all  that  human  art  can  attain.  Each  organ  con- 
tains special  ferments  in  its  cells  in  the  most  subtle 
way  attuned  to  the  molecular  condition  of  the  par- 
ticular cell  substance  and  with  complete  indifference 
to  other  cells. 

"Don't  you  see ?  It  diagnoses  at  the  very  first  stage. 
You  take  a  small  quantity  of  blood,  derive  the  serum, 
then  introduce  a  piece  of  tissue  such  as  you  wish  to 
find  out  whether  it  is  diseased  or  not.  The  thing  is 
of  overwhelming  importance.  One  can  discover  a 
condition  even  before  the  organ  itself  shows  it  out- 
wardly. It  means  a  new  epoch  in  medicine.  As  for 
me,  I  call  it  the  new  'police  service'  of  the  organism — 
working  with  perfect,  scientific  accuracy. ' ' 

"Wh-what  do  you  find?"  reiterated  Seabury. 

"I  have  made  tests  for  about  everything  I  can  sus- 
pect," returned  Kennedy,  taking  the  tubes  and  pour- 
ing the  liquid  from  number  two  into  number  one  until 
they  were  equalized  in  color,  thus  testing  them,  while 
we  watched  every  action  closely. 


THE  SERUM  DIAGNOSIS  55 

"You  see,"  he  digressed,  "to  get  the  two  the  same 
shade  I  have  to  dilute  the  first  by  the  second.  Now, 
the  dialyzers  are  not  permeable  to  albumin.  There- 
fore the  violet  color  indicates  that  the  blood  serum  in 
this  case  contains  ferments  which  the  body  is  making 
to  split  up  some  foreign  substance  in  the  blood,  such 
as  I  suspected  and  obtained  from  the  hospital.  The 
test  is  positive.  Mr.  Seabury,  how  long  have  you  felt 
as  you  say  that  you  do?" 

"Several  weeks,"  the  man  returned  weakly. 

"That  is  fortunate,"  cried  Kennedy,  "fortunate 
that  it  has  not  been  several  months. ' ' 

He  paused,  then  added  the  startling  statement, 
"Mr.  Seabury,  I  can  find  no  evidence  here  of  poison. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  wonderful  Abderhalden  test 
shows  me  that  you  have  one  of  the  most  common 
forms  of  internal  disease  that  occur  for  the  most  part 
in  persons  at  or  after  middle  life,  about  the  age  of 
fifty,  more  common  in  men  than  in  women — a  disease 
which  taken  in  time,  as  it  has  been  revealed  by  this 
wonderful  test,  may  be  cured  and  you  may  be  saved — 
an  incipient  cancer  of  the  stomach. ' ' 

Kennedy  paused  a  moment  and  listened.  I  fancied 
I  heard  someone  in  the  hall.  But  he  went  on,  "The 
person  whom  you  suspect  of  poisoning  you — " 

There  came  a  suppressed  scream  from  the  door,  as 
it  was  flung  open  and  Agatha  Seabury  stood  there, 
staring  with  fixed,  set  eyes  at  Kennedy,  then  at  her 
husband.  Mechanically  I  looked  at  my  watch.  It  was 
precisely  eight.  Kennedy  had  evidently  prolonged 
the  test  for  a  purpose. 

"The  person  whom  you  suspected,"  he  repeated 
firmly, ' '  is  innocent ! ' ' 


56  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

A  moment  Agatha  stood  there,  then  as  the  thing 
dawned  on  her,  she  uttered  one  cry,  "  Judson!" 

She  reeled  as  Kennedy  with  a  quick  step  or  two 
caught  her. 

Seabury  himself  seemed  dazed. 

"And  I  have — "  he  ejaculated,  then  stopped. 

Kennedy  raised  his  hand.  "  Just  a  moment,  please," 
he  interrupted,  as  he  placed  Mrs.  Seabury  in  a  chair, 
then  glanced  hastily  at  his  watch. 

She  saw  the  motion  and  seemed  suddenly  to  realize 
that  it  was  nearing  the  time  for  Sherburne  to  call  up. 
With  a  mighty  effort  she  seemed  to  grip  herself.  She 
had  just  been  shocked  to  know  that  she  was  charged 
unjustly.  But  had  she  been  cleared  from  one  peril 
only  to  fall  a  victim  to  another — the  one  she  already 
feared  ?  Was  Sherburne  to  escape,  after  all,  and  ruin 
her? 

The  telephone  tinkled  insistently.  Kennedy  seized 
the  receiver. 

"Who  is  it?"  we  heard  him  ask.  "Mr.  Sherburne 
— oh  yes." 

Mrs.  Seabury  paled  at  the  name.  I  saw  her  shoot 
a  covert  glance  at  her  husband,  and  was  relieved  to 
see  that  his  face  betrayed  as  yet  no  recognition  of  the 
name.  She  turned  and  listened  to  Kennedy,  strain- 
ing her  ears  to  catch  every  syllable  and  interpret 
every  scrap  of  the  one-sided  conversation. 

Quickly  Craig  had  jammed  the  receiver  down  on  a 
little  metal  base  which  we  had  not  noticed  near  the 
instrument.  Three  prongs  reaching  upward  from  the 
base  engaged  the  receiver  tightly,  fitting  closely  about 
it.  Then  he  took  up  a  watch-case  receiver  to  listen 
through,  in  place  of  the  regular  receiver. 


THE  SERUM  DIAGNOSIS  57 

"Sherburne,  you  say?"  he  repeated.  "H.  Morgan 
Sherburne?" 

Apparently  the  voice  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire 
replied  rather  peevishly,  for  Kennedy  endeavored  to 
smooth  over  the  delay.  We  waited  impatiently  as  he 
reiterated  the  name.  Why  was  he  so  careful  about 
it?  The  moments  were  speeding  fast  and  Mrs.  Sea- 
bury  found  the  suspense  terrific. 

"Must  pay — we'll  never  get  anything  on  you?" 
Craig  repeated  after  a  few  moments  further  parley. 
"Very  well.  I  am  commissioned  to  meet  you  there  in 
ten  minutes  and  settle  the  thing  up  on  those  terms," 
he  concluded  as  he  clapped  the  regular  receiver  back 
on  its  hook  with  a  hasty  good-by  and  faced  us  tri- 
umphantly. 

"The  deuce  I  won't  get  anything.  I've  got  it!"  he 
exclaimed. 

Judson  Seabury  was  too  stunned  by  the  revelation 
that  he  had  a  cancer  to  follow  clearly  the  maze  of 
events. 

"That,"  cried  Kennedy,  rising  quickly,  "is  what 
is  known  as  the  telescribe — a  new  invention  of  Edison 
that  records  on  a  specially  prepared  phonograph 
cylinder  all  that  is  said — both  ways — over  a  telephone 
wire.  Come ! ' ' 

Ten  minutes  later,  in  a  cab  that  had  been  waiting 
at  the  door,  we  pulled  up  at  the  Vanderveer. 

Without  a  word,  leaving  Judson  Seabury  and  his 
wife  in  the  waiting  cab,  Craig  sprang  out,  followed  by 
me,  as  he  signaled. 

There  was  Sherburne,  brazen  and  insolent,  in  the 
cafe  as  we  entered,  from  a  rear  door,  and  came  upon 


58  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

him  before  he  knew  it,  our  friend,  Dunn,  whom  we 
had  met  in  the  lobby,  hovering  concealed  outside, 
ready  to  come  to  our  assistance. 

In  a  moment  Kennedy  was  at  Sherburne's  elbow, 
pinching  it  in  the  manner  familiar  to  international 
crooks. 

"Will  you  tell  me  what  your  precise  business  is  in 
this  hotel?"  shot  out  Craig  before  Sherburne  could 
recover  from  his  surprise. 

Sherburne  flushed  and  flared — then  became  pale 
with  rage. 

"None  of  your  damned  insolence!"  he  ground  out, 
then  paused,  cutting  the  next  remark  short  as  he 
gritted,  "What  do  you  mean?  Shall  I  send  a  wax 
impression  of  that  key — " 

Kennedy  had  quickly  flashed  the  cylinder  of  the 
telescribe  before  his  eyes  and  instinctively  Sherburne 
seemed  to  realize  that  with  all  his  care  in  using  type- 
writers and  telephones,  some  kind  of  record  of  his 
extortion  had  been  obtained. 

For  a  moment  he  crumpled  up.  Then  Kennedy 
seized  him  by  the  elbow,  dragging  him  toward  a  side 
door  opposite  that  at  which  our  cab  was  standing. 

"I  mean,"  he  muttered,  "that  I  have  the  goods  on 
you  at  last  and  you'll  get  the  limit  for  blackmail 
through  this  little  wax  cylinder  if  you  so  much  as 
show  your  face  in  New  York  again.  I  don't  care 
where  you  go,  but  it  must  be  by  the  first  train. 
Understand  ? ' ' 

A  moment  later  we  returned  to  the  cab,  where  it  had 
pulled  up  in  the  shadow,  away  from  the  carriage  en- 
trance. 

"You — you'll   forgive   me — for   my — unjust   BUS- 


THE  SERUM  DIAGNOSIS  59 

picions — Agatha  ? "  we  heard  a  voice  from  the  depths 
of  the  cab  say. 

Kennedy  pulled  me  back  in  time  not  to  interrupt 
a  muffled  "Yes." 

Craig  coughed. 

As  he  reached  a  hand  in  through  the  cab  door  to 
bid  good-night  to  the  reunited  couple,  I  saw  Mrs.  Sea- 
bury  start,  then  turn  and  drop  into  her  handbag  the 
key  which  Kennedy  had  extracted  from  Sherburne's 
pocket  in  the  melee  and  now  conveyed  back  to  her  in 
the  handshake. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  DIAMOND  QUEEN 

"MEET  Sylvania  Quarantine  midnight.  Strange 
death  Rawaruska.  Retain  you  in  interest  steamship 
company.  Thompson,  Purser." 

Kennedy  had  torn  open  the  envelope  of  a  wireless 
message  that  had  come  from  somewhere  out  in  the 
Atlantic  and  had  just  been  delivered  to  him  at  dinner 
one  evening.  He  read  it  quickly  and  tossed  it  over 
to  me. 

"Rawaruska,"  I  repeated.  "Do  you  suppose  that 
means  the  clever  little  Russian  dancer  who  was  in  the 
'Revue'  last  year?" 

"There  could  hardly  be  two  of  that  unusual  name 
who  would  be  referred  to  so  familiarly,"  returned 
Craig.  ' '  Curious  that  we  've  had  nothing  in  the  wire- 
less news  about  it. ' ' 

"Perhaps  it  has  been  delayed,"  I  suggested.  "Let 
me  ring  up  the  Star.  They  may  have  something 
now. ' ' 

A  few  minutes  later  I  rejoined  Craig  at  the  table. 
A  report  had  just  been  received  that  Rawaruska  had 
been  discovered,  late  the  night  before,  unconscious  in 
her  room  on  the  Sylvania,.  The  ship's  surgeon  had 
been  summoned,  but  before  he  was  able  to  do  anything 
for  her  she  died.  That  was  all  the  report  said.  It 
was  meager,  but  it  served  to  excite  our  interest. 

Renee  Rawaruska,  I  knew,  was  a  popular  little  Rus- 
60 


THE  DIAMOND  QUEEN  61 

sian  dancer  abroad  who  had  come  to  America  the  sea- 
son previous  and  had  made  a  big  hit  on  Broadway. 
Beautiful,  strange,  fiery,  she  incarnated  the  myste- 
rious Slav.  I  knew  her  to  be  one  of  those  Russian 
dancers  before  whose  performances  Parisian  audi- 
ences had  gone  wild  with  admiration,  one  who  had 
carried  her  art  beyond  anything  known  in  other  coun- 
tries, fascinating,  subtle. 

Hastily  over  the  telephone  Kennedy  made  arrange- 
ments to  go  down  to  Quarantine  on  a  revenue  tug  that 
was  leaving  to  meet  the  Sylvania. 

It  was  a  weird  trip  through  the  choppy  winter  seas 
of  the  upper  bay  and  the  Narrows,  in  the  dark,  with 
the  wind  cold  and  bleak. 

The  tug  had  scarcely  cast  off  from  the  Battery, 
where  we  met  it,  when  a  man,  who  had  been  watching 
us  from  a  crevice  of  his  turned-up  ulster  collar, 
quietly  edged  over. 

"You  are  Professor  Kennedy,  the  detective?"  he 
began,  more  as  if  asserting  it  than  asking  the  ques- 
tion. 

Craig  eyed  him  a  moment,  but  said  nothing. 

"I  understand,"  he  went  on,  not  waiting  for  a 
reply,  "that  you  are  interested  in  the  case  of  that 
little  Russian  actress,  Rawaruska  ? ' ' 

Still  Kennedy  said  nothing. 

' '  My  name  is  Wade — of  the  Customs  Service, ' '  pur- 
sued the  man,  nothing  abashed.  Sticking  his  head 
forward  between  the  corners  of  his  high  collar  he 
added,  in  a  lowered  voice,  "You  have  heard,  I  sup- 
pose, of  the  great  amber  diamond,  'The  Invincible'?" 

Kennedy  nodded  and  I  thought  hurriedly  of  all  the 
big  stones  I  had  ever  heard — the  Pitt,  the  Orloff,  the 


62  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

Koh-i-noor,  the  Star  of  the  South,  the  Cullinan,  and 
others. 

''The  Invincible,  you  know,"  he  added,  "is  the 
largest  amber  diamond  in  the  world,  almost  the  size  of 
the  famous  Cullinan,  over  three  hundred  carats.  It 
was  found  in  the  dry  diggings  of  the  Vaal  River,  a  few 
miles  from  Kimberley.  The  dry  diggings  are  inde- 
pendent of  the  De  Beers  combine,  of  course.  Well, 
its  owner  has  always  been  in  the  position  of  Mark 
Twain's  man  with  the  million-dollar  bank-note  who 
found  it  too  large  to  cash.  No  one  knows  just  what 
an  amber  diamond  of  that  size  is  really  worth.  This 
one  is  almost  perfect,  resembles  the  huge  top  of  a 
decanter  stopper.  It's  a  beautiful  orange  color  and 
has  been  estimated  at — well,  as  high  as  close  to  a  quar- 
ter of  a  million,  though,  as  I  said,  that  is  all  guess- 
work. ' ' 

"Yes?"  remarked  Kennedy,  more  for  politeness 
than  anything  else. 

Wade  leaned  over  closer. 

"The  Invincible,"  he  whispered,  shielding  his  lips 
from  the  keen,  biting  gale,  "was  last  known  to  belong 
to  the  De  Guerres,  of  Antwerp.  One  of  my  special 
agents  abroad  has  cabled  me  to  look  out  for  it.  He 
thinks  there  is  reason  to  believe  it  will  be  smuggled 
into  America  for  safe  keeping  during  the  troubles  in 
Belgium." 

It  seemed  to  make  no  difference  to  the  customs  man 
that  Kennedy  did  not  exactly  welcome  him  with  open 
arms.  "The  De  Guerres  are  well-known  dealers  in 
diamonds,  one  of  the  leading  houses  in  the  'city  of 
diamonds,'  as  Antwerp  has  been  called.  One  of  the 
De  Guerres  is  on  the  Sylvania,  the  junior  partner — " 


THE  DIAMOND  QUEEN  63 

he  paused,  then  added, — "the  husband,  I  believe,  of 
Kawaruska.  I  thought  perhaps  you  might  be  willing 
to  try  to  help  me." 

"I  should  be  glad  to,"  replied  Kennedy  tersely, 
pondering  what  the  officer  had  told  us. 

Nothing  more  was  said  on  the  trip  and  at  last  we 
came  to  the  Sylvania,  lying  grim  and  dark  of  hull  off 
the  little  cluster  of  Quarantine  buildings,  with 
myriads  of  twinkling  lights  on  her,  far  above  but 
scarcely  relieving  the  blackness  of  the  leviathan  form. 

Thompson,  the  purser,  a  quiet,  unexcitable  English- 
man, met  us  as  we  came  over  the  side,  and  for  the 
moment  we  lost  sight  of  our  new-found  friend,  Wade. 

"Perhaps  you  didn't  know  it,"  informed  Thomp- 
son as  we  made  our  way  through  the  ship,  "but 
Rawaruska  was  married — had  been  for  some  time." 

"Who  was  her  husband?"  queried  Kennedy,  seek- 
ing confirmation  of  what  we  had  already  heard. 

"Armand  De  Guerre,  a  Belgian,  of  Antwerp,"  was 
the  reply,  "one  of  the  partners  in  a  famous  old  dia- 
mond-cutting firm  of  that  city. ' ' 

Kennedy  looked  at  the  purser  keenly  for  a  moment, 
then  asked,  ' '  Were  they  traveling  together  ? ' ' 

' '  Oh,  yes, — that  is,  he  had  engaged  a  room,  but  you 
know  how  crowded  the  boats  are  with  refugees  fleeing 
to  America  from  the  war.  He  gave  up  his  room,  or 
rather  his  share  of  it,  to  a  woman,  a  professional  sales- 
woman, well  known,  I  believe,  in  Antwerp  as  well  as 
the  Rue  de  la  Paix  in  Paris  and  Maiden  Lane  and 
Fifth  Avenue  of  your  city,  a  Miss  Hoffman — Elsa 
Hoffman.  She  shared  the  room  with  Rawaruska, 
while  De  Guerre  took  his  chances  in  the  steerage." 

As  we  walked  down  one  of  the  main  corridors  we 


64  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

noticed  ahead  of  us  a  seemingly  very  nervous  and 
excited  gentleman  engaged  apparently  in  a  heated 
conversation  with  another. 

"Monsieur  De  Guerre,"  whispered  Thompson  as 
we  approached. 

The  two  seemed  to  be  just  on  the  point  of  parting, 
as  we  neared  them,  and,  I  think,  our  approach  has- 
tened them.  I  could  not  hear  what  one  of  them  said, 
but  I  heard  De  Guerre  almost  hiss,  as  he  turned  on 
his  heel,  "Well,  sir,  you  were  the  last  one  seen  with 
her  alive." 

A  moment  later  the  purser  introduced  us  to  De 
Guerre.  There  was  something  about  him  which  I  can 
hardly  express  on  paper,  a  sort  of  hypnotic  fascina- 
tion. I  felt  instinctively  that  such  a  man  would 
wield  a  powerful  influence  over  some  women.  Was  it 
in  his  eyes,  or  was  it  merely  his  ardent  foreign  grace  ? 

"You  must  find  out  the  truth,"  he  cried  eagerly. 
"Already  they  are  saying  that  it  was  suicide.  But  I 
cannot  believe  it.  It  cannot  be.  No, — she  was  mur- 
dered!" 

Kennedy  ventured  no  opinion,  but  now,  more  than 
ever,  hastened  to  signify  to  the  purser  that  he  wanted 
to  look  over  the  ground  as  quickly  as  possible  before 
the  ship  docked. 

Rawaruska,  we  found,  had  occupied  Room  186,  on 
the  port  side  of  one  of  the  lower  decks.  Kennedy 
seemed  to  be  keenly  interested,  as  we  approached  the 
room  in  which  the  body  still  lay,  awaiting  arrival  at 
the  pier  a  few  hours  later. 

The  stateroom,  apparently,  ran  to  the  very  skin  of 
the  vessel  and  the  ports  opened  directly  on  the  water, 
not  upon  an  outside  deck,  as  with  the  rooms  above  it. 


THE  DIAMOND  QUEEN  65 

It  was  an  outside  room  at  the  end  of  a  sort  of  cross 
alleyway,  and  it  was  impossible  that  anyone  could 
have  reached  it  except  through  the  corridors. 

Attached  to  it  was  a  little  bath  and  directly  across 
from  the  bath,  on  the  other  side,  was  another  small 
room  which  was  occupied  by  her  maid,  Cecilie,  a 
French  girl. 

In  the  main  bedroom  was  a  double  bed,  a  couch,  a 
wardrobe,  and  a  small,  thin-legged  writing  or  dressing 
table. 

On  the  white  bed  lay  the  now  cold  and  marble  figure 
of  the  once  vivacious  little  dancer  who  had  enchanted 
thousands  in  life — petite,  brunette,  voluptuous. 
Kawaruska  was  beautiful,  even  in  death. 

Her  finely  chiseled  features,  lacking  that  heaviness 
which  often  characterizes  European  women,  were, 
however,  terribly  drawn  and  her  perfect  complexion 
on  which  she  had  prided  herself  was  now  all  mottled 
and  bluish. 

As  Kennedy  examined  the  body,  I  could  not  help 
observing  that  there  seemed  to  be  every  evidence  that 
the  girl  had  been  asphyxiated  in  some  strange  man- 
ner. 

Had  it  been  by  a  deft  touch  on  a  nerve  of  her  beauti- 
ful, soft  neck  that  had  constricted  the  throat  and  cut 
off  her  breath  ?  I  had  heard  of  such  things.  Or  had  it 
been  asphyxiation  due  to  a  poison  that  had  paralyzed 
the  chest  muscles? 

The  purser,  as  soon  as  we  came  aboard,  had  sum- 
moned the  ship 's  surgeon,  and  we  had  scarcely  arrived 
at  Rawaruska's  room  when  he  joined  us.  He  was  one 
of  those  solid,  reliable  doctors,  not  brilliant,  but  one  in 
whom  you  might  place  great  confidence,  a  Dr. 


66  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

Sanderson,  educated  in  Edinburgh,  and  long  a  fol- 
lower of  the  sea. 

"Was  there  any  evidence  of  a  struggle?"  asked 
Kennedy. 

"No,  none  whatever,"  replied  the  doctor. 

"No  peculiar  odor,  no  receptacle  of  any  kind  near 
her  that  might  have  held  poison  ? ' ' 

"No,  nothing  that  could  have  been  used  to  hold 
poison  or  a  drug." 

Kennedy  was  regarding  the  face-of  the  little  dancer 
attentively.  "Most  extraordinary,"  he  remarked 
slowly,  "that  congested  look  she  has." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Dr.  Sanderson,  "her  face  was 
flushed  and  blue  when  I  got  to  her — cyanotic,  I  should 
say.  There  seemed  to  be  a  great  dryness  of  her  throat 
and  the  muscles  of  her  throat  were  paretic.  Her 
pupils  were  dilated,  too,  and  her  pulse  was  rapid,  as 
if  from  a  greatly  increased  blood  pressure. ' ' 

"Was  she  conscious?"  asked  Kennedy,  almost  rev- 
erently turning  over  her  rigid  body  and  looking  at 
the  back  of  her  neck  and  the  upper  spine.  "Did  she 
recognize  anything,  say  anything?" 

"She  seemed  to  be  in  a  state  of  amnesia,"  replied 
Sanderson  slowly.  "Evidently  if  she  had  seen  any- 
thing she  had  forgotten  or  wouldn't  tell,"  he  added 
cautiously. 

"Who  found  her?"  asked  Craig.  "How  was  she 
discovered?" 

"Why,  Miss  Hoffman  found  her,"  replied  the 
purser  quickly.  "  She  called  one  of  the  stewards.  She 
had  been  sitting  in  the  library  reading  until  quite 
late  and  Rawaruska  had  retired  early,  for  she  was  not 
a  good  sailor,  they  tell  me.  It  must  have  been  nearly 


THE  DIAMOND  QUEEN  67 

midnight  when  De  Guerre  and  a  friend,  pausing  at 
the  library  door  on  their  way  from  the  smoking  room, 
saw  Miss  Hoffman,  and  all  three  stopped  in  the  Ritz 
restaurant  for  a  bite  to  eat. 

"De  Guerre  walked  down  the  corridor  with  Miss 
Hoffman  afterwards, ' '  he  continued,  ' '  and  left  her  as 
she  went  into  the  room  with  his  wife.  Perhaps  a  min- 
ute later — long  enough  anyway  so  that  he  had  reached 
the  other  end  of  the  corridor — she  screamed.  She 
had  turned  on  the  light  and  had  found  Rawaruska 
lying  half  across  the  bed,  unconscious.  Miss  Hoffman 
called  to  the  steward  to  summon  Dr.  Preston,  but  he 
came  to  me  first,  instead." 

"Dr.  Preston?"  repeated  Kennedy. 

"Yes,  a  young  American  physician,  the  friend  who 
had  been  with  De  Guerre  in  the  smoking  room  part 
of  the  evening,  and  later  made  up  the  party  in  the 
restaurant,"  vouchsafed  Sanderson. 

"The  man  De  Guerre  was  talking  to  as  we  came 
down  the  hall, ' '  put  in  Thompson. 

"  H  'm, "  mused  Kennedy,  evidently  thinking  of  the 
remark  we  had  overheard. 

"I've  talked  with  him  now  and  then  myself,"  ad- 
mitted Sanderson;  "a  bright  fellow  who  has  been 
studying  abroad  and  after  many  adventures  succeeded 
in  getting  across  the  border  into  Holland  and  thence 
to  England.  He  managed  to  squeeze  into  the  steerage 
of  the  Sylvania,  though,  of  course,  like  De  Guerre, 
he  was  classed  as  a  first-cabin  passenger.  He  had  be- 
come very  friendly  with  Rawaruska  and  her  party 
while  they  were  waiting  for  bookings  in  London. ' ' 

Thompson  leaned  over.  "The  steward  in  the  cor- 
ridor tells  me,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  "that  early  in 


68  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

the  evening  Dr.  Preston  and  Eawaruska  were  on  the 
promenade  deck  together." 

I  tried  vaguely  to  piece  together  the  scraps  of  infor- 
mation which  we  had  gleaned.  Kennedy,  however, 
said  nothing,  but  was  now  leaning  over  the  body  of  the 
little  dancer,  looking  at  the  upper  region  of  her  spine 
attentively.  Quietly,  from  a  group  of  three  or  four 
little  red  marks  on  her  back  he  squeezed  out  several 
drops  of  liquid,  absorbing  them  on  a  piece  of  sterile 
gauze. 

A  moment  later,  De  Guerre,  who  had  quietly 
slipped  away  during  the  examination,  as  if  unable  to 
bear  the  sight  of  the  tragedy,  returned,  and  with  him 
was  a  young  woman. 

"Miss  Elsa  Hoffman,"  he  introduced. 

Elsa  Hoffman  was  of  a  fascinating  type,  tall,  finely 
gowned,  of  superb  poise,  physically  perfect.  One 
could  not  help  admiring  her  deep  blue  eyes  and  blonde 
radiance.  Indeed,  I  felt  that  one  must  rely  much  on 
her  attractions  in  pursuit  of  her  business  of  selling 
gems  to  wealthy  men  and  women.  Still,  in  spite  of 
her  evident  poise,  the  tragedy  seemed  to  have  op- 
pressed and  unnerved  her. 

She  did  not  seem  to  be  able  to  add  much  to  the 
scanty  stock  of  facts  we  had,  even  after  repeating  the 
story  of  her  discovery  of  Rawaruska,  which  was  sub- 
stantially as  the  purser  had  already  told  it. 

"I — I  think  perhaps  Mr.  Kennedy  ought  to  question 
Cecilie,"  she  suggested  finally,  turning  toward  De 
Guerre,  who  nodded  his  assent. 

A  sudden  movement  in  the  passageway  followed, 
and  the  door  opened  quietly.  *  A  man  entered,  a 
youngish  fellow  of  fine  physique  and  attractive  face. 


THE  DIAMOND  QUEEN  69 

I  recognized  him.  immediately  as  Dr.  Preston.  His 
apparently  usually  debonair  manner  was  visibly  sub- 
dued by  the  presence  of  death. 

Evidently  he  had  just  heard  that  someone  was  in- 
vestigating the  tragedy  and  had  hastened  to  be  pres- 
ent. Both  De  Guerre  and  Elsa  nodded  to  him,  a  trifle 
coldly.  Only  a  moment  did  he  pause  to  look  at  the 
drawn  face  on  the  pillow,  then  stood  apart,  ill  at  ease 
until  Kennedy  had  finished  his  minute  examination. 

As  Kennedy  moved  away  from  the  bed,  Dr.  Preston 
contrived  to  place  himself  near  him  and  apart  from 
the  rest. 

"Mr.  Kennedy,"  he  began  in  a  husky  undertone, 
"they  tell  me  you  have  been  engaged  to  investigate 
this — this  awful  affair. ' ' 

Kennedy  assented. 

"If  there  is  anything  I  can  do  to  help  you,"  Pres- 
ton added  anxiously,  "I  hope  you  will  command  me. 
In  fact, ' '  he  added  as  Kennedy  nodded  while  Preston 
glanced  covertly  at  De  Guerre  and  Miss  Hoffman,  ' '  I 
hope  you'll  get  at  the  truth." 

' '  Thank  you, ' '  responded  Kennedy,  meeting  his  eye 
squarely  this  time ;  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  call  on  you  if 
occasion  arises. ' ' 

I  watched  Preston  closely,  not  quite  making  out 
just  what  he  was  driving  at,  nor  the  reason  for  the 
strained  relations  that  now  seemed  to  exist  among  the 
former  friends.  Still  following  Kennedy's  every  mo- 
tion, Preston  retired  to  the  position  of  a  more  than 
interested  spectator. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  ANESTHETIC  VAPORIZER 

CRAIG  had  completed  a  hasty  search  of  the  room, 
with  its  little  dressing  table,  two  trunks,  and  a  cabi- 
net. Everything  seemed  to  have  been  kept  in  a  most 
neat  and  orderly  manner  by  the  attentive  Cecilie,  who 
was  apparently  a  model  servant. 

The  little  white  bathroom  was  equally  immaculate, 
and  Kennedy  passed  next  to  an  examination  of  the 
little  room  of  the  French  maid. 

Cecilie  was  a  pretty,  dark  little  being,  with  snap- 
ping black  eyes,  the  type  of  winsome  French  maid  that 
one  would  naturally  have  expected  Rawaruska,  with 
her  artist's  love  of  the  beautiful,  to  have  picked  out 
to  serve  her  dainty  self. 

As  I  ran  my  eye  over  the  group  that  was  now  in- 
tently watching  Kennedy  at  work,  I  fancied  I  caught 
Elsa  Hoffman  eyeing  Cecilie  sharply,  and  I  am  sure 
that  once  at  least  those  black  eyes  snapped  back  a  wire- 
less message  of  defiance  at  the  penetrating  eyes  of 
blue.  I  could  feel  instinctively  the  atmosphere  of  hos- 
tility between  the  two  women. 

"The  door  was  not  locked,  you  say?"  repeated 
Craig,  following  up  one  of  the  first  of  his  own  ques- 
tions to  Cecilie,  which  had  resulted  in  unearthing  this 
new  fact. 

"Non,  monsieur,"  replied  Cecilie  in  accented  Eng- 
lish which  was  charming.  "Mam'selle — we  all  called 

70 


THE  ANESTHETIC  VAPORIZER          71 

her  that,  her  stage  name, — used  to  leave  it  open  in  case 
of  fire  or  accident.  She  had  a  terrible  fear  of  drown- 
ing. You  know  there  have  been  some  awful  wrecks 
lately,  and  she  was,  oh,  so  nervous." 

"But  her  valuables?"  prompted  Craig  quickly, 
watching  the  effect  of  his  question. 

"All  in  the  ship's  safe,  in  care  of  the  purser,"  re- 
plied Cecilie.  "So  were  Miss  Hoffman's." 

"Yes,"  corroborated  Thompson,  "and,  besides,  the 
corridors  and  passageways  are  well  patrolled  by  stew- 
ards at  all  times. ' ' 

The  search  of  Cecilie 's  room,  which  was  smaller  and 
more  scantily  furnished,  took  only  a  few  minutes. 

A  suppressed  exclamation  from  Craig  served  to 
divert  my  attention  from  the  study  of  those  around 
me  to  the  study  of  Kennedy  himself,  and  what  he  had 
discovered. 

Hidden  away  in  the  back  of  a  drawer  in  a  small 
chiffonier,  he  had  come  across  several  articles  that 
aroused  interest  if  they  did  not  whet  the  blade  of  sus- 
picion. 

"Mon  Dieu!"  exclaimed  the  maid  as  Kennedy 
suppressed  a  smile  of  gratification  at  the  outcome  of 
the  search.  ' '  But  that  is  not  mine ! ' ' 

Kennedy  drew  out  from  the  back  of  the  drawer, 
where  it  had  been  tucked,  a  little  silken  bag.  He 
opened  it.  On  the  surface  it  seemed  that  the  bag  was 
empty.  But  as  he  brought  it  cautiously  closer  to  his 
face  to  peer  in,  I  could  see  that  just  a  whiff  of  its  con- 
tents was  enough. 

"What  have  you  there?"  I  asked  Kennedy,  careful 
that  no  one  else  could  overhear  us. 

' '  Cayenne  pepper,  snuff,  and  some  other  chemical, ' ' 


72  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

sneezed  Craig.  "Very  effective  to  throw  into  the  face 
of  anyone,"  he  commented,  closing  quickly  the  bag 
by  its  loose  drawing  strings,  "that  is,  if  you  merely 
want  to  blind  him  and  put  him  out  temporarily." 

I  did  not  pay  much  attention  to  the  protests  of  the 
maid,  nor  the  look  of  triumph  that  crossed  the  face  of 
Elsa  Hoffman  and  surprise  exhibited  by  Dr.  Preston. 
For  Kennedy  had  picked  up  from  the  same  drawer  a 
little  toilet  vaporizer,  too,  and  was  examining  it 
minutely. 

As  he  held  it  up,  I  could  see,  or  rather  I  fancied 
that  it  was  empty.  He  pressed  the  bulb  lightly,  then 
seemed  to  start  back  quickly. 

"What's  that?"  I  queried,  mystified  at  his  actions. 

' '  Something  the  French  secret  service  spies  call  the 
'bad  perfume,'  "  he  returned  frankly,  "an  anesthetic 
so  incredibly  rapid  and  violent  that  the  spies,  usually 
women,  who  use  it  wear  a  filter  veil  over  their  own 
mouths  and  noses  to  protect  themselves. ' ' 

The  whole  thing  was  so  queer  that  I  could  only  won- 
der what  might  be  the  explanation.  Cecilie  was  pro- 
testing volubly,  now  in  fair  English,  now  in  liquid 
French,  that  she  knew  absolutely  nothing  of  the 
articles. 

I  wondered  whether  Rawaruska  herself  might  not 
have  placed  them  there.  Might  she  not  have  been  a 
spy,  one  of  those  clever  little  dancers  who  had  wormed 
themselves  by  their  graceful  agility  into  the  good 
graces  of  some  of  the  world's  leading  men  and  made 
Russia  a  recognized  diplomatic  power? 

Something  like  the  same  idea  must  have  been  sug- 
gested to  Dr.  Sanderson,  who  was  standing  next  me, 
for  he  bent  over  and  remarked  to  me  in  an  undertone, 


THE  ANESTHETIC  VAPORIZER          73 

with  a  significant  glance  at  what  Kennedy  had  dis- 
covered, "I  suppose  you  realize  that  the  position  of 
the  Russian  government  has  undergone  a  marked 
change  since  the  Russian  dancers  have  won  inter- 
national popularity?" 

I  had  not  thought  much  about  it  before,  but  now 
that  he  mentioned  it,  I  could  not  help  a  nod  of  assent. 

''Why,  I  have  heard,"  he  continued  with  the  air 
of  a  man  who  is  imparting  a  big  piece  of  information, 
' '  that  the  beautiful  young  women  of  the  imperial  bal- 
let mingle  in  the  society  of  the  capitals  of  the  world, 
make  friends  with  politicians,  social  leaders,  high  offi- 
cials, and  exert  a  great  influence  in  favor  of  their  own 
country  wherever  they  go.  No  doubt,"  he  added, 
"they  sometimes  convey  valuable  information  to  the 
Foreign  Office  which  could  not  be  obtained  in  any 
other  way. ' ' 

I  was  not  paying  much  attention  to  him,  but  still 
the  doctor  rattled  on  in  an  undertone,  "Some  of  these 
dancers  are  past  masters  in  the  art  of  intrigue.  Do 
you  suppose  Rawaruska  and  the  rest  have  had  the 
task  set  for  them  to  win  back  the  public  opinion  of 
your  country,  which  departed  from  its  traditional 
policy  of  friendliness  during  the  Japanese  war?" 

I  made  no  answer.  I  was  engrossed  in  considering 
the  primary  question.  Could  it  have  been  a  suicide, 
after  all?  Surely  she  had  removed  the  evidences  of 
it  much  better  than  in  any  other  case  I  had  ever  seen. 

Or,  had  there  been  a  "triangle,"  perhaps  a  quad- 
rangle here?  I  could  not  persuade  myself  that  De 
Guerre  cared  greatly  for  his  wife,  except  perhaps  to 
be  jealous  of  anyone  else  having  her.  He  was  too 
attentive  to  Elsa  Hoffman,  and  she,  in  turn,  was  not 


74  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

of  the  type  to  care  much  for  anyone.  As  for  Dr. 
Preston,  although  he  seemed  to  have  had  a  friendship 
for  Rawaruska,  I  could  not  exactly  fit  him  into  the 
scheme  of  things. 

We  proceeded  up  the  bay  on  the  Sylvania,  but  were 
able  to  discover  nothing  further  that  night.  As  we 
left  the  ship  at  the  dock  in  the  morning  we  ran  across 
Wade,  who  was  quietly  directing  a  dozen  or  so  of  his 
men. 

"Any  trace  yet  of  the  Invincible?"  asked  Craig, 
stopping  in  an  unostentatious  corner. 

The  customs  man  shook  his  head  gravely.  "Not 
yet,"  he  replied.  "But  I'm  not  discouraged.  If  we 
miss  it  here  in  the  customs  inspection  it  will  be  sure 
to  turn  up  later.  There's  a  shady  jeweler  on  Fifth 
Avenue,  Margot,  who  knows  these  Antwerp  people 
pretty  well.  I  have  a  man  working  there,  a  diamond 
cutter,  and  other  agents  in  the  trade.  Oh,  I'll  hear 
about  it  soon  enough,  if  it  is  here.  Only  I'd  like  to 
have  done  something  spectacular,  something  that 
would  count  for  me  at  Washington.  Have  you  found 
out  anything?" 

Briefly  Kennedy  told  him  some  of  the  scattered 
facts  we  had  discovered,  just  enough  to  satisfy  him 
without  taking  him  into  our  confidence. 

"I'm  going  to  be  busy  in  the  laboratory,  Walter," 
remarked  Kennedy  as  our  taxicab  extricated  itself 
from  the  ruck  of  the  river-front  streets.  "I  don't 
know  that  there  is  anything  that  you  can  do — except 
— well,  yes.  I  wish  you'd  try  to  keep  an  eye  on  some 
of  these  people — that  maid,  Cecilie,  especially. ' ' 

We  had  learned  that  De  Guerre  was  to  stop  at  the 
Vanderveer  and,  later  in  the  morning,  I  dropped  into 


THE  ANESTHETIC  VAPORIZER         75 

the  hotel  and  glanced  over  the  register.  De  Guerre 
was  registered  there  and  Cecilie  had  a  little  room,  also, 
pending  the  disposal  he  would  make  of  her.  Miss 
Hoffman  had  rooms  of  her  own,  which  she  had  evi- 
dently re-engaged,  with  a  family  in  a  residential 
street  not  far  from  the  hotel. 

The  clerk  told  me  that  De  Guerre  was  out,  but  that 
the  maid  had  returned  after  having  been  out  alone, 
for  a  short  time,  also.  The  lobby  of  the  Vanderveer 
was  fairly  crowded  with  people  by  this  time,  and  I 
found  no  difficulty  in  keeping  in  the  background  and 
still  seeing  pretty  much  everything  that  went  on. 

It  was  rather  tame,  however,  and  I  was  still  de- 
bating whether  I  should  not  do  something  active, 
when  I  happened  to  glance  up  and  catch  sight  of  a 
familiar  face.  It  was  Dr.  Preston  making  inquiries 
for  someone  of  the  room  clerk.  I  dodged  back  of  a 
pillar  and  waited,  covering  myself  with  an  early 
morning  war  extra  that  repeated  the  news  of  the  night 
before. 

A  few  moments  later,  Preston,  who  had  received 
an  answer  from  whomever  he  was  calling,  edged  his 
way  toward  one  of  the  deserted  little  reception  rooms 
near  a  side  carriage  entrance.  Carefully,  I  trailed 
him. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  I  could  make  up  my 
mind  to  risk  passing  the  door  of  the  little  parlor  and 
being  discovered,  but  I  was  growing  impatient.  As 
I  glanced  in  I  was  astonished  to  see  him  talking 
earnestly  to  Cecilie.  I  did  not  dare  stop,  for  fear  one 
or  the  other  might  look  up,  but  I  could  see  that  Pres- 
ton was  eagerly  questioning  her.  Her  face  was 
averted  from  me  and  I  could  not  read  even  her  ex- 


•76  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

pression.  The  passageway  was  deserted,  and  if  I 
paused  I  'would  inevitably  attract  attention.  So  I 
kept  on,  turning  instinctively  in  the  labyrinth  and 
coming  back  to  the  lobby,  where  I  found  a  position 
near  the  telephone  booths  which  gave  me  a  concealed 
view  at  least  of  the  door  of  the  parlor  around  an  angle. 
I  waited. 

Perhaps  five  minutes  passed.  Then  Cecilie  and  Dr. 
Preston  suddenly  emerged  from  the  reception  room. 
Evidently  the  maid  was  anxious  to  get  away,  perhaps 
afraid  to  be  seen  with  him.  With  a  word,  she  almost 
ran  down  the  corridor  in  the  direction  of  the  rear  ele- 
vators, and  Preston,  with  a  queer  look  on  his  face, 
came  slowly  toward  me. 

Instinctively  I  drew  back  into  a  telephone  booth; 
then  it  occurred  to  me  that  if  I  emerged  just  as  he 
passed  he  would  not  be  likely  to  suspect  anything,  and 
I  might  have  a  chance  to  study  him. 

I  did  so,  and  was  quite  amused  at  the  look  of  sur- 
prise on  his  face  as  I  greeted  him.  Still,  I  do  not 
think  he  thought  I  was  shadowing  him.  We  paused 
for  a  moment  on  the  street,  after  a  conventional  ex- 
change of  remarks  about  the  tragedy  to  poor  little 
Eawaruska. 

"That  Miss  Hoffman  seems  to  be  a  very  capable 
•woman,"  I  remarked,  by  way  of  dragging  the  conver- 
sation into  channels  into  which  it  seemed  unlikely  to 
drift  naturally. 

"Y-yes,"  he  agreed,  as  I  caught  a  sidelong  glance 
from  the  corner  of  his  eye.  "I  believe  she  has  had  a 
rather  checkered  career.  I  understand  that  she  was  a 
nurse,  a  trained  nurse,  once. ' ' 

There  was  something  about  the  remark  that  im- 


THE  ANESTHETIC  VAPORIZER          77 

pressed  me.  It  was  made  deliberately,  I  fancied. 
What  his  purpose  was,  I  could  not  fathom,  but  I  felt 
that  in  the  instant  while  he  had  hesitated  he  had  de- 
bated and  made  up  his  mind  to  say  it. 

My  face  betraying  nothing  to  his  searching  glance, 
he  pulled  hastily  at  his  watch.  "  I  'm  going  downtown 
on  the  subway — to  clear  up  some  of  the  muss  that  this 
European  business  has  got  me  in  with  my  bankers," 
he  said  quickly.  "I'd  be  glad  to  have  you  call  on  me 
at  any  time  at  the  Charlton,  just  up  the  avenue  a  bit. 
Good-day,  sir.  I'm  gla'd  to  have  met  you.  Drop  in 
on  me." 

He  was  gone,  scarcely  waiting  for  me  to  reply,  leav- 
ing me  to  wonder  what  was  the  cause  of  his  strange 
actions. 

Mechanically  I  looked  at  my  own  watch  and  decided 
that  I  had  left  Craig  undisturbed  long  enough. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  TWILIGHT  SLEEP 

As  I  entered  the  laboratory  I  saw  before  him  a 
peculiar,  telescope-like  instrument,  at  one  end  of 
which,  in  a  jar  of  oxygen,  something  was  burning  with 
a  brilliant,  penetrating  flame. 

He  paused  in  his  work  and  I  hastened  to  tell  him  of 
the  peculiar  experience  I  had  had  in  the  forenoon. 
But  he  said  nothing,  even  at  the  significant  actions  of 
Dr.  Preston. 

"How  about  those  things  you  found  in  the  maid's 
room?"  I  asked  at  length.  "Do  they  explain  Eawa- 
ruska's  death?" 

"The  trouble  with  them,"  he  replied,  thoughtfully 
shaking  his  head,  "is  that  the  effects  of  such  things 
last  only  for  a  short  time.  They  might  have  been  used 
at  first — but  there  was  something  used  afterward." 

"Something  afterward?"  I  repeated,  keenly  inter- 
ested, and  fingering  the  telescope-like  arrangement 
curiously.  ' '  What 's  this  ? ' ' 

"One  of  the  new  quartz  lens  spectroscopes  used  by 
Dr.  Dobbie  of  the  English  Government  laboratories," 
he  answered  briefly.  "I  think  chemists,  police  offi- 
cials, coroners  and  physicians  are  going  to  find  it 
most  valuable.  You  see,  by  throwing  the  ultraviolet 
part  of  the  spectrum  from  a  source  of  light  as  I  obtain 
from  the  sparking  of  iron  in  oxygen  through  the 
lenses  of  a  quartz  spectroscope,  the  lines  of  many  dan- 

78 


THE  TWILIGHT  SLEEP  79 

gerous  drugs,  especially  of  the  alkaloids,  can  be  dis- 
tinctly and  quickly  located  in  the  spectrum.  Each 
drug  produces  a  characteristic  kind  of  line.  We  use 
a  quartz  lens  because  glass  cuts  off  the  ultraviolet 
rays.  Why,  even  the  most  minute  particle  of  poison 
can  be  detected  in  this  revolutionary  fashion." 

He  had  resumed  squinting  through  the  spectro- 
scope. 

"Well,"  I  asked,  "do  you  find  anything  there?" 

He  had  evidently  been  using  the  piece  of  gauze  on 
which  he  had  preserved  the  liquid  from  the  peculiar 
little  marks  on  Rawaruska's  spine. 

"Narcophin,"  he  muttered,  still  squinting. 

* '  Narcophin  ?  "  I  repeated.    ' '  What  is  that  ? ' ' 

"A  derivative  of  opium — morphine.  There's  an- 
other poison  here,  too,"  he  added. 

"What  is  it?" 

' '  Scopolamine, "  he  answered  tersely,  "seopolamine 
hydrobromide. " 

"Why,"  I  exclaimed,  "that  is  the  drug  they  use  in 
this  new  '  twilight  sleep, '  as  they  call  it. ' ' 

"Exactly,"  he  replied,  "the  dammerschlaf.  I  sus- 
pected something  of  the  kind  when  I  saw  those  little 
punctures  on  her  back.  Some  people  show  a  marked 
susceptibility  to  it ;  others  just  the  reverse.  Evidently 
she  was  one  of  those  who  go  under  it  quietly  and 
quickly." 

I  looked  at  Kennedy  in  amazement. 

"You  can  see,"  he  went  on,  catching  the  expression 
on  my  face,  "if  it  could  be  used  for  medical  science,  it 
could  also  be  used  for  crime.  That's  the  way  I  rea- 
soned, the  way  someone  else  must  have  reasoned." 

He  paused,  then  went  on.   "Someone  thought  out 


80  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

this  plan  of  using  narcophin  and  scopolamine  to  cause 
the  twilight  sleep,  to  keep  Rawaruska  just  on  the  bor- 
derland of  unconsciousness,  destroying  her  memory 
and  producing  forgetfulness.  That  is  the  ddmmer- 
schlaf;  perception  is  retained  but  memory  lost.  You 
are  acquainted  with  the  test?  They  show  an  object  to 
a  patient  and  ask  her  if  she  sees  it.  Say,  half  an  hour 
later,  it  is  shown  again.  If  she  remembers  it,  it  is  a 
sign  that  a  new  injection  is  necessary. 

"Only  in  this  case  the  criminal  went  too  far,  dis- 
regarded the  danger  of  the  thing.  Scopolamine  in  too 
great  a  quantity  causes  death  by  paralysis  of  respira- 
tion— a  paralysis,  by  the  way,  against  which  artificial 
respiration  and  all  means  of  stimulating  are  ineffec- 
tive because  of  the  rigidity  of  the  muscles.  And  so, 
you  see,  in  this  case  Rawaruska  died." 

I  could  not  help  thinking  of  Preston,  the  young  doc- 
tor who  had  been  studying  in  Germany.  More  than 
likely  he  had  heard  of  and  had  investigated  the  Frie- 
berg  "twilight  sleep"  treatment.  We  had  made  some 
progress,  even  though  we  did  not  know  why  or  by 
whom  the  drugs  had  been  administered. 

Wade,  of  the  Customs  Service,  had,  as  I  have  said, 
told  us  that  he  had  several  secret  agents  about  in  the 
trade,  constantly  picking  up  bits  of  information  that 
might  interest  the  Treasury  Department.  It  did  not 
surprise  Kennedy,  therefore,  late  in  the  forenoon,  to 
have  Wade  call  up  and  tell  him  that  among  the  early 
callers  at  Margot's,  the  jeweler,  was  the  maid  Cecilie. 

"That  was  where  she  must  have  been  before  I 
reached  the  Vanderveer, ' '  I  exclaimed. 

Kennedy  nodded.  ' '  But  why  did  she  go  there  ?  "  he 
asked.  ' '  And  why  was  she  talking  with  Preston  ? ' ' 


THE  TWILIGHT  SLEEP  81 

Inasmuch  as  I  couldn't  answer  the  questions  I 
didn't  try,  but  waited  while  Craig  reasoned  out  some 
method  of  attack  on  them. 

" Since  it's  known  that  we're  working  on  the  case 
of  Rawaruska, ' '  he  ruminated  half  an  hour  later  over 
an  untasted  lunch,  "we  might  just  as  well  take  the 
risk  of  seeing  Margot  himself.  Let's  go  down  and 
look  his  shop  over. ' ' 

So  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  when  Fifth  Ave- 
nue was  crowded  with  shoppers,  we  paused  before 
Margot 's  window,  looking  over  the  entrancing  display 
of  precious  stones  gleaming  out  from  the  rich  black 
velvet  background,  and  then  sauntered  in,  like  any 
other  customers. 

Kennedy  engaged  the  salesman  in  talk  about  neck- 
laces and  lavallieres,  always  leading  the  conversation 
around  to  the  largest  stones  that  he  saw,  and  dwelling 
particularly  on  those  that  were  colored.  As  I  listened, 
trying  to  throw  in  a  word  now  and  then  that  would 
not  sound  absolutely  foolish,  I  was  impressed  by  a 
feeling  that  Margot 's,  even  though  it  was  such  a  fash- 
ionable place,  was  what  might  be  called  only  a  high- 
class  shyster's.  In  fact,  I  recalled  having  heard  that 
Margot  had  engineered  several  rather  questionable 
transactions  in  gems. 

"I'm  much  interested  in  orange  stones,"  remarked 
Kennedy,  casually  turning  up  a  flawless  white  dia- 
mond and  discarding  it  as  if  it  did  not  interest  him. 
"Once  when  I  was  abroad  I  saw  the  famous  Invin- 
cible, and  a  handsomer  gem  than  it  is  I  never  hope 
to  see." 

The  clerk,  ever  obliging,  replaced  the  tray  before  us 
in  the  safe  and  retired  toward  the  back  of  the  shop. 


82  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"He  suspects  nothing,  at  least,"  whispered  Ken- 
nedy. 

A  moment  later  he  returned.  "I'm  sorry,"  he  re- 
ported, "but  we  haven't  any  such  stones  in  the  house. 
But  I  believe  we  expect  some  in  a  few  days.  If  you 
could—" 

"I  shall  remember  it;  thank  you,"  interrupted 
Kennedy  brusquely,  as  I  caught  a  momentary  gleam 
of  satisfaction  in  his  eye.  "That's  most  fortunate. 
I  '11  be  in  again.  Thank  you. ' ' 

We  turned  toward  the  door.  In  an  instant  it  flashed 
over  me  that  perhaps  they  were  recutting  the  big 
Invincible. 

"Just  a  moment,  please,  gentlemen,"  interrupted  a 
voice  behind  us. 

A  short,  stocky  man  had  come  up  behind  us. 

"I  thought  you  did  not  look  like  purchasers,  nor 
yet  like  crooks,"  he  said  defiantly.  "Did  I  hear  you 
refer  to  the  Invincible  ? ' ' 

It  was  Margot  himself,  who  had  been  hovering 
about  behind  us.  Kennedy  said  nothing. 

' '  Yes, ' '  he  went  on,  "  I  am  cutting  a  large  diamond, 
but  it  is  not  like  the  Invincible.  It  is  much  hand- 
somer— one  that  was  discovered  right  here  in  this 
country  in  the  new  diamond  fields  of  Arkansas.  The 
diamond  itself  is  already  sold.  And  you  would 
nevair  guess  the  buyer,  oh,  nevair ! ' ' 

"No?"  queried  Kennedy. 

"Nevair!"  reiterated  Margot. 

"It  could  not  be  delivered  to  a  woman  who  was 
once  the  maid  of  Rawaruska,  the  Russian  dancer?" 
Craig  asked  abruptly. 

Margot  shot  a  quick  and  suspicious  glance  at  us. 


THE  TWILIGHT  SLEEP  83 

"Then  you  are,  as  I  suspected,  a  detectif?"  he 
cried. 

Kennedy  eyed  him  sharply  without  admitting  the 
heinous  charge.  Margot  returned  his  look  and  I  felt 
that  of  all  sayings  that  about  a  dishonest  man  not 
being  able  to  look  you  in  the  eye  was  itself  the  least 
credible.  He  laughed  daringly.  "Well,  perhaps  you 
are  right,"  he  said.  "But  whoever  it  is,  he  is  lucky 
to  have  bought  a  stone  like  it  so  cheaply!" 

The  man  was  baffling.  I  could  not  figure  it  out. 
Had  Margot  been  simply  a  high-class  "fence"  for 
the  disposal  and  convenient  reappearance  of  stolen 
goods? 

We  returned  uptown  to  our  apartment  to  find  that 
in  the  meantime  Wade  had  called  up  again.  Ken- 
nedy got  him  on  the  wire.  It  seemed  that  shortly 
after  we  left  Margot 's  Cecilie  had  called  again  and 
had  gone  off  with  a  small,  carefully  wrapped  pack- 
age. 

"A  strange  case,"  pondered  Kennedy,  as  he  hung 
up  the  receiver.  "First  there  is  a  murder  that  looks 
like  a  suicide,  then  the  sale  of  a  diamond  that  looks 
like  a  fake."  He  paused  a  moment.  "They  have 
worked  quickly  to  cover  it  up;  we  must  work  with 
equal  quickness  if  we  are  to  uncover  them." 

With  almost  lightning  rapidity  he  had  seized  the 
telephone  again  and  had  our  old  friend  First  Deputy 
O  'Connor  on  the  wire.  Briefly  he  explained  the  case, 
and  arranged  for  the  necessary  arrests  that  would 
bring  the  principal  actors  in  the  little  drama  to  the 
laboratory  that  night.  Then  he  fell  to  work  on  a 
little  delicate  electrical  instrument  consisting,  out- 
wardly at  least,  of  a  dial  with  a  pointer  and  several 


84  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

little  carbon  handles  attached  to  wires,  us  well  as  a 
switchboard. 

I  know  that  Kennedy  did  not  relish  having  his  hand 
forced  in  this  manner,  but  nevertheless  he  was  equal 
to  the  emergency  and  when,  after  dinner,  those  whom 
O'Connor  had  rounded  up  began  to  appear  at  the 
laboratory,  no  one  would  ever  have  imagined  that  he 
had  not  the  entire  case  on  the  very  tip  of  his  tongue, 
almost  bursting  forth  an  accusation. 

De  Guerre  had  complied  with  the  police  order  by 
sending  Cecilie  alone  in  a  cab,  and  later  he  drove  up 
with  Miss  Hoffman.  Dr.  Preston  came  in  shortly 
afterward,  shooting  a  keen  glance  at  Cecilie,  and 
avoiding  more  than  a  nod  to  De  Guerre.  Margot  him- 
self was  the  last  to  arrive,  protesting  volubly.  Wade, 
of  course,  was  already  there. 

"I  really  must  beg  your  pardon,"  began  Kennedy, 
as  he  ignored  the  querulousness  of  Margot,  the  late 
arrival,  adding  significantly,  "that  is,  of  all  of  you 
except  one,  for  monopolizing  the  evening. ' ' 

Whatever  might  have  been  in  their  minds  to  say, 
no  one  ventured  a  word.  Kennedy's  tone  when  he 
said,  "Of  all  of  you  except  one,"  was  too  tense  and 
serious.  It  demanded  attention,  and  he  got  it. 

"I  am  going  to  put  to  you  first  a  hypothetical 
case,"  he  continued  quietly.  "Let  us  say  that  the 
De  Guerres  of  Antwerp  decided  to  smuggle  a  great 
jewel  into  America  for  safe  keeping,  perhaps  for  sale, 
during  the  troublous  times  in  their  own  country. 

"Now,  any  man  would  know,"  he  went  on,  "that 
he  had  a  pretty  slim  chance  when  it  came  to  smug- 
gling in  a  diamond.  Besides,  everyone  knew  that  the 
De  Guerres  owned  this  particular  stone,  of  which  I 


THE  TWILIGHT  SLEEP  85 

shall  speak  later.  But  a  woman?  Smuggling  is  sec- 
ond nature  to  some  women." 

Quickly  he  ran  over  the  strange  facts  that  had  been 
unearthed  regarding  the  death  of  the  dainty  Russian 
dancer. 

"You  were  right,  Monsieur  De  Guerre,"  he  con- 
cluded, turning  to  the  diamond  merchant;  "it  was  no 
suicide.  Your  wife  was  killed — unintentionally,  it  is 
true, — but  killed  in  an  attempt  to  steal  a  great  dia- 
mond from  her  while  she  was  smuggling  it." 

De  Guerre  made  no  answer,  save  a  hasty  glance  at 
Wade  that  did  not  carry  with  it  an  admission  of 
smuggling. 

"You  mean  to  say,  then,  Mr.  Kennedy,"  Margot 
demanded,  "that  while  Rawaruska  was  smuggling  in 
the  big  diamond  of  which  you  speak  someone  heard 
of  it  and  deliberately  murdered  her?" 

"Not  too  fast,"  cautioned  Craig.  "Think  again 
before  you  use  those  words,  'deliberately  murdered.' 
If  it  had  been  murder  that  was  intended,  how  much 
more  surely  it  might  have  been  accomplished  by  more 
brutal  methods — or  by  more  scientific.  No,  murder 
was  never  deliberately  intended." 

He  stopped,  as  if  to  emphasize  the  point,  then 
slowly  began  to  distribute  to  each  of  us  one  of  the 
carbon  handles  I  had  seen  him  adjusting  to  the  pecu- 
liar little  electrical  instrument. 

"Let  me  reconstruct  the  case,"  he  hurried  on,  giv- 
ing a  final  twist  or  two  to  the  instrument  itself,  now 
placed  before  him  on  a  table,  with  its  dial  face  away 
from  us.  "Rawaruska  had  retired  for  the  night. 
Where  had  she  placed  the  diamond?  It  would  prob- 
ably take  a  long  search  to  find  it.  Well,  the  twilight 


86  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

sleep  was  chosen  because  it  was  supposed  to  be  a  safe 
and  sure  means  to  the  end.  Even  if  she  retained  some 
degree  of  consciousness,  she  would  forget  what  hap- 
pened. That  is  partly  the  reason  for  the  treatment, 
anyhow, — the  loss  of  memory. 

"Someone  believed  this  was  a  safe  and  sure  anes- 
thetic. First  perhaps  a  whiff  of  the  secret  service 
'bad  perfume'  to  insure  that  she  would  not  cry  out — 
then  an  injection  of  narcophin  and  scopolamine — an- 
other— and  the  twilight  sleep.  A  few  minutes,  and 
Rawaruska  was  unconscious. 

"Then  came  the  search.  Perhaps  she  was  restless. 
Another  injection  settled  that.  At  last  the  great 
diamond  was  found.  But  the  twilight  sleep  meant 
not  forgetfulness  but  death  to  Rawaruska!" 

Craig  paused.  It  was  almost  as  if  one  could  see  the 
word' picture  of  the  scene  as  he  painted  it. 

"What  was  to  be  done?  The  diamond  must  be  re- 
cut — anything  to  hide  its  identity,  at  once,  and  at  any 
cost.  And  Margot?  The  story  of  the  Arkansas 
diamond  and  the  sale  is  a  blind.  The  case  is  perfect ! ' ' 

Kennedy  raised  his  eyes  for  the  first  time  from,  the 
study  of  the  little  electrical  machine  before  him,  and 
caught  the  eye  of  Cecilie,  holding  it,  unwilling. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  great  diamond,  the  In- 
vincible?" Kennedy  smashed  out. 

I  felt  that  it  might  not  have  been  exactly  chival- 
rous, but  it  was  necessary. 

Cecilie 's  breast,  which  had  showed  a  wildly  beating 
heart  as  Kennedy  told  of  how  her  mistress  had  died, 
was  calmer  now.  Her  air  of  surprise  at  the  mention 
of  the  diamond  was  perfect.  Elsa  Hoffman  was 
gazing  at  her,  too,  in  tense  interest.  De  Guerre  was 


THE  TWILIGHT  SLEEP  87 

outwardly  cool,  Margot  openly  cynical,  Preston  lean- 
ing forward  in  ill-suppressed  excitement. 

For  a  moment  Kennedy  paused  again,  as  if  allow- 
ing all  to  collect  themselves  before  he  took  them  by 
assault. 

"I  have  lately  been  studying,"  he  remarked  casu- 
ally, "the  experiments  of  Dr.  Von  Pfungen  of  Vienna 
showing  the  protective  resistance  of  the  human  skin 
against  an  electric  current.  Normally,  this  resistance 
averages  from  seventy  to  eighty  thousand  ohms.  In 
the  morning,  owing  to  the  accumulation  of  waste 
products,  the  resistance  may  mount  to  almost  double. 
In  persons  suffering  from  nervous  anxiety,  it  de- 
creases to  five  thousand  and  even  down  to  a  thousand 
ohms  in  cases  of  hysteria.  Von  Pfungen  has  also 
measured  a  human  being's  emotional  feelings  by  the 
electric  current.  I  have  a  copy  of  his  instrument 
here.  There  is  one  person  who  sits  gripping  the  car- 
bon electric  handle  connected  with  this  galvanometer 
who,  to  begin  with,  had  a  resistance  of  over  sixty 
thousand.  But  when  I  began  to  tell  of  how  Rawaruska 
met  her  death,  of  the  hypothetical  case  I  have  built  up 
by  my  observations  and  experiments  here  in  this  very 
laboratory,  the  needle  of  the  galvanometer  started  to 
oscillate  downward.  It  went  down  until  it  reached 
thirty-eight  thousand  at  the  mention  of  murder.  "When 
I  said  the  case  was  perfect,  it  had  got  as  low  as  under 
twenty  thousand,  swinging  lower  and  lower  as  the 
person  saw  hope  depart ! ' ' 

Kennedy  was  no  longer  paying  any  attention  to  the 
little  instrument.  As  I  followed  him,  I  became  more 
and  more  impatient.  What  was  it  he  had  discovered  ? 
Who  was  it? 


88  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"Preston,"  cried  Kennedy,  suddenly  wheeling  on 
the  young  doctor,  "through  your  regard — honorable, 
I  am  sure — for  Rawaruska  you  have  let  yourself  be 
drawn  into  doing  a  little  amateur  detective  work. 
Let  me  warn  you.  Instead  of  clearing  up  the  case, 
you  merely  laid  yourself  open  to  suspicion.  Fortu- 
nately the  galvanometer  absolves  you.  You  should 
have  known  that  Cecilie  was  only  a  tool.  De  Guerre, 
your  black  wallet,  that  all  diamond  dealers  carry — 
thank  you,  Wade — that's  it." 

Kennedy  had  turned  from  Preston  to  Cecilie,  then 
to  De  Guerre  so  suddenly  that  no  one  was  prepared 
for  the  signal  he  gave  to  the  customs  officer. 

Wade  had  covered  the  surprised  dealer  and  was 
now  emptying  out  the  contents  of  the  wallet. 

There,  on  the  table,  gleaming  in  the  light  of  the 
laboratory,  lay  a  wonderful  brilliant,  some  three  hun- 
dred carats — perfect  in  its  blazing  crystalline  orange 
beauty.  There  it  lay,  a  jewel  which  might  charm  and 
arouse  the  cupidity  of  two  hemispheres.  It  shone 
like  a  thing  of  life.  Yet  back  of  its  orange  fire  lay  a 
black  tragedy. 

Margot  was  on  his  feet  instantly. 

"  That  is  not  the—  " 

"Just  a  moment,  Mr.  Margot,"  interrupted  Ken- 
nedy. "I  think  Mr.  Wade  will  be  able  to  show  that  it 
is  the  Invincible  when  he  matches  up  the  parts  that 
have  been  hurriedly  cut  from — from  the  wonderful 
Arkansas  diamond,"  Craig  added  sarcastically. 
"Miss  Hoffman,  Dr.  Preston  tells  us  that  before  you 
were  a  diamond  saleswoman  you  had  been  a  trained 
nurse ! ' ' 

The  look  Elsa  Hoffman  flashed,  as  her  calm  exterior 


THE  TWILIGHT  SLEEP  89 

refused  to  conceal  her  emotions  longer,  was  venom- 
ous. 

Kennedy  was  the  calmest  one  of  us  all  as  he  tapped 
the  little  galvanometer  significantly  with  his  index 
finger. 

"De  Guerre,"  he  exclaimed,  leaning  forward 
slightly,  ' '  you  and  your  lover,  Elsa  Hoffman,  planned 
cunningly  to  rob  your  own  brothers.  But,  instead  of 
robbers  merely,"  he  ground  out,  "you  are  mur- 
derers!" 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  SIXTH  SENSE 

"I  SUPPOSE  you  have  read  in  the  papers  of  the  mys- 
terious burning  of  our  country  house  at  Oceanhurst, 
on  the  south  shore  of  Long  Island?" 

It  had  been  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  that 
a  huge  automobile  of  the  latest  design  drew  up  at 
Kennedy's  laboratory  and  a  stylishly  dressed  woman, 
accompanied  by  a  very  attentive  young  man,  alighted. 

They  had  entered  and  the  man,  with  a  deep  bow, 
presented  two  cards  bearing  the  names  of  the  Count 
and  Countess  Alessandro  Rovigno. 

Julia  Rovigno,  I  knew,  was  the  daughter  of  Roger 
Gaskell,  the  retired  banker.  She  had  recently  married 
Count  Rovigno,  a  young  foreigner  whose  family  had 
large  shipping  interests  in  America  and  at  Trieste  in 
the  Adriatic. 

"Yes,  indeed,  I  have  read  about  it,"  nodded  Craig. 

"You  see,"  she  hurried  on  a  little  nervously,  "it 
was  a  wedding  present  to  us  from  my  father. ' ' 

"Giulia,"  put  in  the  young  man  quickly,  giving  her 
name  an  accent  that  was  not,  however,  quite  Italian, 
"thinks  the  fire  was  started  by  an  incendiary." 

Rovigno  was  a  tall,  rather  boyish-looking  man  of 
thirty-two  or  thirty-three,  with  light  brown  hair,  light 
brown  beard  and  mustache.  His  eyes  and  forehead 
spoke  of  intelligence,  but  I  had  never  heard  that  he 
cared  much  about  practical  business  affairs.  In  fact, 

90 


THE  SIXTH  SENSE  91 

to  American  society  Rovigno  was  known  chiefly  as  one 
of  the  most  daring  of  motor-boat  enthusiasts. 

"It  may  have  been  the  work  of  an  incendiary,"  he 
continued  thoughtfully,  "or  it  may  not.  I  don't 
know.  But  there  has  been  an  epidemic  of  fires  among 
the  large  houses  out  on  Long  Island  lately." 

I  nodded  to  Kennedy,  for  I  had  myself  compiled  a 
list  for  the  Star,  which  showed  that  considerably  over 
a  million  dollars'  worth  of  show  places  had  been  de- 
stroyed. 

"At  any  rate,"  added  the  Countess,  "we  are  burned 
out,  and  are  staying  in  town  now — at  my  father's 
house.  I  wish  you  would  come  around  there.  Per- 
haps father  can  help  you.  He  knows  all  about  the 
country  out  that  way,  for  his  own  place  isn't  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  away. ' ' 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  drop  around,  if  I  can  be  of  any 
assistance,"  agreed  Kennedy  as  the  young  couple 
left  us. 

The  Rovignos  had  scarcely  gone  when  a  woman  ap- 
peared at  the  laboratory  door.  She  was  well  dressed, 
pretty,  but  looked  pale  and  haggard. 

"My  name  is  Mrs.  Bettina  Petzka,"  she  began, 
singling  out  Kennedy.  "You  do  not  know  me,  but 
my  husband,  Nikola,  was  one  of  the  first  students  you 
taught,  Professor." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  recall  him  very  well,"  replied  Craig. 
"He  was  a  brilliant  student,  too — very  promising. 
What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"Why,  Professor  Kennedy,"  she  cried,  no  longer 
able  to  control  her  feelings,  "he  has  suddenly  disap- 
peared." 


92  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"What  line  of  work  had  he  taken  up?"  asked 
Craig,  interested. 

"He  was  a  wireless  operator — had  been  employed 
on  a  liner  that  runs  to  the  Adriatic  from  New  York. 
But  he  was  out  of  work.  Someone  has  told  me  that 
he  thought  he  saw  Nikola  in  Hoboken  around  the 
docks  where  a  number  of  the  liners  that  go  to  block- 
aded ports  are  laid  up  waiting  the  end  of  the  war." 

She  paused. 

"I  see,"  remarked  Kennedy,  pursing  up  his  lips 
thoughtfully.  ' '  Your  husband  was  not  a  reservist  of 
any  of  the  countries  at  war,  was  he?" 

"No — he  was  first  of  all  a  scientist.  I  don't  think 
he  had  any  interest  in  the  war — at  least  he  never 
talked  much  about  it." 

"I  know,"  persisted  Craig,  "but  had  he  taken  out 
his  naturalization  papers  here?" 

"He  had  applied  for  them." 

"When  did  he  disappear?" 

"I  haven't  seen  him  for  two  nights,"  she  sobbed. 

It  flashed  over  me  that  it  was  now  two  nights  since 
the  fire  that  had  burned  Eovigno's  house,  although 
there  was  no  reason  for  connecting  the  events,  at 
least  yet. 

The  young  woman  was  plainly  wild  with  anxiety. 
"Oh,  can't  you  help  me  find  Nikola?"  she  pleaded. 

"I'll  try  my  best,"  reassured  Kennedy,  taking 
down  on  a  card  her  address  and  bowing  her  out. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  we  had  an  oppor- 
tunity to  call  at  the  Gaskell  town  house  where  the 
Rovignos  were  staying.  The  Count  was  not  at  home, 
but  the  Countess  welcomed  us  and  led  us  directly  into 
a  large  library. 


THE  SIXTH  SENSE  93 

"I'd  like  to  have  you  meet  my  father,"  she  intro- 
duced. "Father,  this  is  Professor  Kennedy,  whom 
Alex  and  I  have  engaged  to  look  into  the  burning  of 
our  house." 

Old  Roger  Gaskell  received  us,  I  thought,  with  a 
curious  mixture  of  restraint  and  eagerness. 

"I  hope  you'll  excuse  me?"  asked  the  Countess  a 
moment  later.  "1  really  must  dress  for  dinner.  But 
I  think  I  've  told  you  all  I  can.  I  wanted  you  to  talk 
to  my  father." 

"I've  heard  of  the  epidemic  of  fires  from  my  friend 
Mr.  Jameson  here,  on  the  Star,"  remarked  Kennedy 
when  we  were  alone.  "Some,  I  understand,  have  at- 
tributed the  fires  to  incendiaries,  others  have  said 
they  were  the  work  of  disgruntled  servants,  others  of 
an  architect  or  contractor  who  hasn't  shared  in  the 
work  and  thinks  he  may  later.  I  've  even  heard  it  said 
that  an  insurance  man  may  be  responsible — hoping  to 
get  new  business,  you  know." 

Gaskell  looked  at  us  keenly.  Then  he  rose  and 
approached  us,  raising  his  finger  as  though  cautioning 
silence. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  whispered  so  faintly  that  it 
was  almost  lost,  "sometimes  I  think  there  is  a  plot 
against  me?" 

"Against  you?"  whispered  back  Kennedy.  "Why, 
what  do  you  meant" 

"I  can't  tell  you — here,"  he  replied.  "But,  I  be- 
lieve there  are  detectaphones  hidden  ab<  ut  this 
house!" 

"Have  you  searched?"  asked  Kennedy  keenly. 

"Yes,  but  I've  found  nothing.    I've  gone  over  all 


94  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

the  furniture  and  such  things.  Still,  they  might  be 
inside  the  walls,  mightn't  they?" 

Kennedy  nodded. 

"Could  you  discover  them  if  they  were?"  asked 
Gaskell. 

"I  think  I  could,"  replied  Craig  confidently. 

"Then  there's  another  peculiar  thing,"  resumed 
Gaskell,  a  little  more  freely,  yet  still  whispering.  "I 
suppose  you  know  that  I  have  a  country  estate  not  far 
from  my  daughter?" 

He  paused.  "Of  course  I  know,"  he  went  on, 
watching  Kennedy's  face,  "that  sparks  are  sometimes 
struck  by  horses'  shoes  when  they  hit  stones.  But 
the  shoes  of  my  horses,  for  instance,  out  there  lately 
have  been  giving  forth  sparks  even  in  the  stable.  My 
groom  called  my  attention  to  it,  and  I  saw  it  myself. ' ' 

He  continued  looking  searchingly  at  Kennedy. 
"You  are  a  scientist,"  he  said  at  length.  "Can  you 
tell  me  why?" 

Kennedy  was  thinking  deeply.  "I  can't,  offhand," 
he  replied  frankly.  "But  I  should  like  to  have  a 
chance  to  investigate." 

"There  may  be  some  connection  with  the  fire," 
hinted  Gaskell  anxiously  as  he  accompanied  us  to  the 
door. 

At  our  own  apartment,  when  we  returned,  we 
found  our  friend,  Burke,  of  the  Secret  Service,  wait- 
ing for  us. 

"Just  had  a  hurry  call  to  come  to  New  York,"  he 
explained,  "and  thought  I'd  like  to  drop  in  on  you 
first." 

"What's  the  trouble?"  asked  Kennedy. 

"Why,  there's  been  a  mysterious  yacht  lurking 


THE  SIXTH  SENSE  95 

about  the  mouth  of  the  harbor  for  several  days  and 
they  want  to  look  into  it. ' ' 

''Whose  yacht  do  they  think  it  is?" 

"They  don't  know,  but  it  is  said  to  resemble  one 
that  belongs  to  a  man  named  Gaskell." 

"Gaskell?"  repeated  Craig,  turning  suddenly. 

"Yes, — the  Furious — a  fast,  floating  palace — one  of 
these  new  power  yachts,  run  by  a  gas  engine — built 
for  speed.  Why,  do  you  know  anything  about  it?" 

Kennedy  said  nothing. 

"The  revenue  cutter  Uncas  has  been  assigned  to 
me, ' '  went  on  Burke.  ' '  If  you  have  nothing  better  to 
do,  I'd  like  to  have  you  give  me  a  hand  in  the  case. 
You  might  find  it  a  little  different  from  the  ordinary 
run." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  go  with  you,"  replied  Craig 
cordially.  ' '  Only,  just  now  I  've  got  a  particular  case 
of  my  own.  I'll  see  you  tomorrow  at  the  Customs 
House,  though,  if  I  can. ' ' 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Burke.  "I  don't  think  either 
of  you,  particularly  Jameson,  will  regret  it.  It  prom- 
ises to  be  a  good  story." 

Burke  had  scarcely  left  us  when  Kennedy  decided 
on  his  next  move.  We  went  directly  over  to  the  Long 
Island  Railroad  station  and  caught  the  next  train  out 
to  Oceanhurst,  not  a  long  run  from  the  city. 

Thus,  early  in  the  evening,  Kennedy  was  able  to 
begin,  under  cover,  his  investigation  of  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  Rovigno  and  Gaskell  houses. 

We  entered  the  Gaskell  estate  and  looked  it  over  as 
we  made  our  way  toward  the  stable  to  find  the  groom. 
Out  on  the  bay  we  could  see  the  Furious  at  anchor. 
Nearer  in  shore  were  a  couple  of  Count  Rovigno 's 


96  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

speedy  racing  motor-boats.  Along  the  shore,  we  saw  a 
basin  for  yachts,  capable  even  of  holding  the  Furious. 

The  groom  proved  to  be  a  rather  dull-witted  fellow, 
and  left  us  pretty  much  to  our  own  devices. 

' '  Ya-as — sparks — I  saw  'em, ' '  he  drawled  in  answer 
to  Kennedy's  question.  "So  did  Mr.  Gaskell.  Naw — 
I  don't  know  nawthin'  about  'em." 

He  had  lumbered  out  into  another  part  of  the  stable 
when  I  heard  a  low  exclamation  from  Craig,  of  "Look, 
Walter!" 

I  did  look  in  amazement.  There  were  indeed  little 
sparks,  in  fact  a  small  burst  of  them  in  all  directions, 
where  there  were  metal  surfaces  in  close  proximity 
to  one  another. 

Kennedy  had  brought  along  with  him  a  strange  in- 
strument and  he  was  now  looking  attentively  at  it. 

"What  is  that?"  I  asked. 

"The  bolometer,"  he  replied,  "invented  by  Pro- 
fessor Langley." 

"And  what  does  it  do?" 

"Detects  waves,"  he  replied,  "rays  that  are  in- 
visible to  the  eye.  For  instance,  just  now  it  tells  me 
that  shooting  through  the  darkness  are  invisible 
waves,  perhaps  infra-red  rays. ' ' 

He  paused,  and  I  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"You  know,"  he  explained,  "the  infra-red  rays  are 
closer  to  the  heat  rays  than  those  of  the  upper  end  of 
the  spectrum  and  beyond,  the  ultra-violet  rays,  with 
which  we  have  already  had  some  experience." 

Kennedy  continued  to  look  at  his  bolometer.  "Yes," 
he  remarked  thoughtfully,  half  to  himself,  "some- 
where around  here  there  is  a  generator  of  infra-red 
rays  and  a  projector  of  those  rays.  It  reminds  me  of 


THE  SIXTH  SENSE  97 

those  so-called  F-rays  of  Ulivi — or  at  least  of  a  very 
powerful  wireless." 

I  was  startled  at  the  speculations  that  his  words 
conjured  up  in  my  mind.  Was  the  "evil  eye"  of 
superstition  a  scientific  fact?  Was  there  a  baneful 
beam  that  could  be  directed  at  will — one  that  could 
not  be  seen  or  felt  until  it  worked  its  havoc?  Was 
there  a  power  that  steel  walls  could  not  hold,  which, 
in  fact,  was  the  more  surely  transmitted  by  them? 

Somehow,  the  fact  of  the  strange  disappearance  of 
Petzka,  the  wireless  operator,  kept  bobbing  up  in  my 
mind.  I  could  not  help  wondering  whether,  perhaps, 
he  had  found  this  strange  power  and  was  using  it  for 
some  nefarious  purpose.  Could  it  have  been  Petzka 
who  was  responsible  for  the  fires  ?  But,  why  ?  I  could 
not  figure  it  out. 

Early  the  next  morning  we  called  at  the  Gaskell 
town  house  again.  Kennedy  had  brought  with  him  a 
small  piece  of  apparatus  which  seemed  to  consist  of 
two  sets  of  coils  placed  on  ends  of  a  magnet  bar.  To 
them  was  attached  a  long  flexible  wire  which  he 
screwed  into  an  electric  light  bulb  socket.  Then  he 
placed  a  peculiar  telephone-like  apparatus,  attached 
to  the  other  end,  to  his  ears.  He  adjusted  the  mag- 
nets and  carried  the  thing  carefully  about  the  room. 

At  one  point  he  stopped  and  moved  the  thing  ver- 
tically up  along  the  wall,  from  floor  to  ceiling. 

' '  That 's  a  gas  pipe, ' '  he  said  simply. 

"What's  the  instrument?"  I  asked. 

"A  new  apparatus  for  finding  pipes  electrically, 
which  I  think  can  be  just  as  well  applied  to  finding 
other  things  concealed  in  walls  under  plaster  and 
paper. ' ' 


98  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

He  paused  to  adjust  the  thing.  "The  electrical 
method,"  he  went  on,  "is  a  special  application  of 
well-known  induction  balance  principles.  You  see 
one  set  of  coils  receives  an  alternating  or  vibrating 
current.  The  other  is  connected  with  this  telephone. 
First  I  established  a  balance  so  that  there  was  no 
sound  in  the  telephone." 

He  moved  the  thing  about.  "Now,  when  the  device 
comes  near  metal-piping,  for  example,  or  a  wire,  the 
balance  is  disturbed  and  I  hear  a  sound.  That  was 
the  gas  pipe.  It  is  easy  to  find  its  exact  location. 
Hulloa—  " 

He  paused  again  in  a  corner,  back  of  Gaskell's  desk 
and  appeared  to  be  listening  intently. 

A  moment  later  he  was  ruthlessly  breaking  through 
the  plaster  of  the  beautifully  decorated  wall. 

Sure  enough,  in  there  was  a  detectaphone,  con- 
cealed only  a  fraction  of  an  inch  beneath  the  paper, 
with  wires  leading  down  inside  the  partition  in  the 
direction  of  the  cellar. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    INFERNAL    MACHINES 

HE  ripped  the  little  mechanical  eavesdropper  out, 
wires  and  all,  but  he  did  not  disconnect  the  wires,  yet. 

We  traced  it  out,  and  down  into  the  cellar  the  wires 
led,  directly,  and  then  across,  through  a  small  opening 
in  the  foundations  into  the  next  cellar  of  an  apart- 
ment house,  ending  in  a  bin  or  storeroom. 

In  itself  the  thing,  so  far,  gave  no  clew  as  to  who 
was  using  it  or  the  purpose  for  which  it  had  been 
installed.  But  it  was  strange. 

Someone  was  evidently  trying  to  get  something 
from  you,  Mr.  Gaskell,"  remarked  Craig  pointedly, 
after  we  returned  to  the  Gaskell  library.  "Why  do 
you  suppose  he  went  to  all  that  trouble?" 

Gaskell  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  averted  his  eyes. 

"I've  heard  of  a  yacht  outside  New  York  harbor," 
added  Craig  casually. 

"A  yacht?" 

"Yes,"  he  said  nonchalantly,  "the  Furious." 

Gaskell  met  Kennedy's  eye  and  looked  at  him  as 
though  Craig  had  some  occult  power  of  divination. 
Then  he  moved  over  closer  to  us. 

"Is  that  detectaphone  thing  out  of  business  now?" 
he  asked,  hoarsely. 

"Yes." 

"Absolutely?" 

"  Absolutely." 

99 


100  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

Gaskell  leaned  over. 

"Then  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  Professor  Ken- 
nedy," he  said  in  a  low  tone,  "that  I  am  letting  a 
friend  of  mine  from  London  use  that  yacht  to  supply 
some  allied  warships  on  the  Atlantic  with  news,  sup- 
plies and  ammunition,  such  as  can  be  carried." 

Kennedy  looked  at  him  keenly,  but  for  some  mo- 
ments did  not  answer.  I  knew  he  was  debating  on 
how  he  might  properly  dove- tail  this  with  Burke 's 
case,  ethically. 

' '  Someone  is  trying  to  find  out  from  eavesdropping 
just  what  your  plans  are,  then,"  remarked  Craig 
thoughtfully,  with  a  significant  tap  on  the  detecta- 
phone. 

A  moment  later  he  turned  his  back  to  us  and  knelt 
down.  He  seemed  to  be  wrapping  the  detectaphone 
up  in  a  small  package  which  he  put  in  his  pocket  and 
closing  the  hole  in  the  wall  as  best  he  could  where  he 
had  ripped  the  paper. 

"All  I  ask  of  you,"  concluded  Gaskell,  as  we  left  a 
few  minutes  later,  "is  to  keep  your  hands  off  that 
phase  of  things.  Find  the  incendiary — yes ;  but  this 
other  matter  that  you  have  forced  out  of  me — well — 
hands  off!" 

On  our  way  downtown  to  keep  the  appointment 
Kennedy  had  made  with  Burke  the  night  before,  he 
stopped  at  the  laboratory  to  get  a  heavy  parcel  which 
he  carried  along. 

We  found  Burke  waiting  for  us,  impatiently,  at 
the  Customs  House. 

"We've  just  discovered  that  the  liners  over  at  Ho- 
boken  have  had  steam  up  for  a  couple  of  days,"  he 
said  excitedly.  "Evidently  they  are  waiting  to  make 


THE  INFERNAL  MACHINES  101 

a  break  for  the  ocean — perhaps  in  concert  with  a 
sortie  of  the  fleets  over  in  Europe." 

"H-m,"  mused  Kennedy,  looking  fixedly  at  Burke, 
"that  complicates  matters,  doesn't  it?  We  must  pre- 
serve American  neutrality. ' ' 

He  thought  a  moment.  "I  should  like  to  go  aboard 
the  revenue  cutter.  May  I  ?  " 

' '  Surely, ' '  agreed  Burke. 

A  few  moments  later  we  were  on  the  Uncos,  Ken- 
nedy and  Burke  in  earnest  conversation  in  low  tones 
which  I  did  not  overhear.  Evidently  Craig  was  tell- 
ing him  just  enough  of  what  he  had  himself  discov- 
ered so  as  to  enlist  Burke 's  services. 

The  captain  in  charge  of  the  Uncas  joined  the  con- 
versation a  few  moments  later,  and  then  Kennedy 
took  the  heavy  package  down  below.  For  some  time 
he  was  at  work  in  one  of  the  forward  tanks  that  was 
full  of  water,  attaching  the  thing,  whatever  it  was,  in 
such  a  way  that  it  seemed  to  form  part  of  the  skin  of 
the  ship. 

Another  brief  talk  with  Burke  and  the  captain  fol- 
lowed, and  then  the  three  returned  to  the  deck. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,"  remarked  Burke,  as  he  and 
Kennedy  came  back  to  me,  "I  forgot  to  tell  you  that 
I  have  had  some  of  my  men  working  on  the  case  and 
one  of  them  has  just  learned  that  a  fellow  named 
Petzka,  one  of  the  best  wireless  operators, — a  Hun- 
garian or  something — has  been  engaged  to  go  on  that 
yacht." 

"Petzka?"  I  repeated  involuntarily. 

"Yes,"  said  Burke,  in  surprise,  "do  you  know 
anything  about  him  ? ' ' 

I  turned  to  Kennedy. 


102  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"Not  much,"  replied  Craig.  ''But  you  can  find 
out  about  him,  I  think,  through  his  wife.  He  used  to 
be  one  of  my  students.  Here's  her  address.  She's 
very  anxious  to  hear  from  him.  I  'm  sure  that  if  you 
have  any  news  she  will  be  only  too  glad  to  receive  it. ' ' 

Burke  took  the  address  and  a  little  while  later  we 
went  ashore. 

I  was  not  surprised  when  Kennedy  proposed,  as  the 
next  move,  to  revisit  the  cellar  in  the  apartment  next 
to  Gaskell's  house.  But  I  was  surprised  at  what  he 
said,  after  we  had  reached  the  place. 

All  along  I  had  supposed  that  he  was  planning  to 
wait  there  in  hope  of  catching  the  person  who  had 
installed  the  detectaphone.  That,  of  course,  was  a 
possibility,  still.  But  in  reality  he  had  another  pur- 
pose, also. 

We  had  scarcely  secreted  ourselves  in  the  cellar 
storeroom,  which  was  in  a  dark  corner  where  one 
might  remain  unobserved  even  if  the  janitor  entered 
the  cellar,  provided  he  did  not  search  that  part, 
when  Kennedy  took  the  receiving  headpiece  of  the 
detectaphone  and  placed  it  over  his  head,  quite  as  if 
nothing  had  happened. 

' '  What 's  the  use  of  that  ?  "  I  queried.  ' '  You  ripped 
the  transmitter  out  up  above." 

He  smiled  quietly.  "While  my  back  was  turned 
toward  you,  so  that  you  couldn't  see,"  he  said,  "I 
slipped  the  thing  back  again,  only  down  further 
where  Gaskell  wouldn't  be  likely  to  find  it,  even  if 
he  looked.  I  don't  know  whether  he  was  frank  with 
us,  so  I  thought  I  'd  try  the  eavesdropping  game  my- 
self, in  place  of  the  man  who  put  this  thing  in  in  the 
first  place,  whoever  he  was." 


THE  INFERNAL  MACHINES  103 

We  took  turns  listening,  but  could  hear  not  a 
sound.  Nor  did  anyone  come  into  the  cellar. 

So  a  good  part  of  the  afternoon  passed,  apparently 
fruitless. 

My  patience  was  thoroughly  exhausted  when,  sud- 
denly, a  motion  from  Craig  revived  my  flagging  in- 
terest. I  waited  impatiently  for  him  to  tell  me  what 
it  was  that  he  heard. 

"What  was  it?"  I  asked  finally  as  he  pulled  the 
receivers  off  his  head  and  stood  for  a  moment,  con- 
sidering. 

"At  first  I  heard  the  sound  of  voices,"  he  answered 
quickly.  "One  was  the  voice  of  a  woman,  which  I 
recognized.  It  was  the  Countess.  The  other  was  the 
Count. 

"  'Giulia,'  I  heard  him  say,  as  they  entered  the 
room,  'I  don't  see  why  you  should  want  to  go.  It's 
dangerous.  And  besides,  it's  none  of  our  business  if 
your  father  lets  his  yacht  be  used  for  such  a  purpose.' 

"  'But  I  want  to  go,  Alex,'  she  said.  'I  will  go. 
I'm  a  good  sailor.  It's  father's  yacht.  He  won't 
care. ' 

"  'But  what's  the  use?'  he  expostulated.  'Besides 
— think  of  the  danger.  If  it  was  our  business,  it 
might  be  different. ' 

"  'I  should  think  you'd  want  to  go.* 

' '  '  Not  I.  I  can  get  all  the  excitement  I  want  in  a 
motor-boat  race  without  risking  my  precious  neck 
pulling  the  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire  for  someone  else. ' 

"  'Well,  I  want  the  adventure,'  she  persisted,  petu- 
lantly. 

"  'But,  Giulia,  if  you  go  tonight,  think  of  the 
risk — ' 


104  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"That  was  the  last  I  heard  as  they  left  the  room, 
still  arguing.  Evidently,  someone  is  going  to  pull  off 
something  tonight." 

It  did  not  take  Kennedy  long  to  make  up  his  mind 
what  to  do  next.  He  left  the  cellar  hurriedly  and  in 
the  laboratory  hastily  fixed  up  a  second  heavy  and 
bulky  package  similar  to  that  which  he  had  taken 
down  to  the  revenue  cutter  earlier  in  the  day,  making 
it  into  two  parcels  so  as  to  distribute  the  burden  be- 
tween us. 

That  night  we  journeyed  out  to  Oceanhurst  again. 
Avoiding  the  regular  road,  we  made  our  way  from 
the  station  to  the  Gaskell  place  by  a  roundabout  path 
and  it  was  quite  dark  by  the  time  we  got  there. 

As  we  approached  the  basin  we  saw  that  there  were 
several  men  about.  They  appeared  to  be  on  guard, 
but  since  Oceanhurst  at  that  season  of  the  year  was 
pretty  deserted  and  the  Gaskell  estate  was  out  of  the 
town,  they  were  not  especially  vigilant. 

Dark  and  grim,  with  only  one  light  showing  weakly, 
lay  the  yacht,  having  been  run  into  the  basin,  now.  A 
hawser  had  been  stretched  across  the  mouth  of  the 
basin.  Outside  was  a  little  tender,  while  a  searchlight 
was  playing  over  the  water  all  the  time.  Evidently 
whatever  interference  was  feared  was  expected  from 
the  water  rather  than  from  the  land. 

We  slunk  into  the  shadow  of  a.  row  of  bath-houses, 
in  order  to  get  our  bearings.  On  the  opposite  side 
from  the  road  that  led  down  from  the  house,  it  was 
not  so  likely  that  anyone  would  suspect  that  inter- 
lopers were  hiding  there. 

Still,  they  were  not  neglecting  that  side  of  the 
basin,  at  least  in  a  perfunctory  sort  of  way. 


THE  INFERNAL  MACHINES  105 

Kennedy  drew  me  back  into  the  shadow,  deeper,  at 
the  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  boardwalk  leading  in 
front  of  the  bath-houses. 

From  our  hiding  place  we  could  now  hear  two 
voices,  apparently  of  sailors. 

"Do  you  know  the  new  wireless  operator  who  goes 
with  us  tonight  ? ' '  asked  one. 

"No.  They've  been  very  careful  of  him.  I  guess 
they  were  afraid  that  someone  might  get  wise.  But 
there  couldn't  very  well  be  any  leak,  there.  One  of 
those  Englishmen  has  been  with  him  every  minute 
since  he  was  engaged." 

' '  They  say  he 's  pretty  good.    Who  is  he  ? " 

"A  Servian,  he  says,  and  his  name  sounds  as  if  it 
might  be  so." 

The  voices  trailed  off.  It  was  only  a  scrap  of  con- 
versation, but  Kennedy  had  not  missed  a  word  of  it. 

"That  means  Petzka,"  he  nodded  to  me. 

"What  is  he — a  Hungarian  or  a  Servian?"  I  asked 
quickly. 

Kennedy  had  craned  his  neck  out  beyond  the  cor- 
ner of  the  bath-houses  and  was  looking  at  the  Furious 
in  the  basin. 

' '  Come  on,  Walter, ' '  he  whispered,  not  taking  time 
to  answer  my  question.  "Those  fellows  have  gone. 
There's  no  one  at  all  on  this  side  of  the  basin  and  I 
just  saw  the  men  on  deck  go  up  the  gangplank  to  the 
boat-house.  They  can't  do  any  more  than  put  us  off, 
anyhow." 

He  had  watched  his  chance  well.  As  quickly  as  we 
could,  burdened  down  by  our  two  heavy  packages,  we 
managed  to  slip  across  the  boardwalk  to  the  piling 
that  formed  that  side  of  the  basin.  The  Furious  had 


106  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

swung  over  with  the  tide  nearer  our  side  than  the 
other.  It  was  a  daring  leap,  but  he  made  it  as  lightly 
as  a  cat,  landing  on  the  deck.  I  passed  over  the  pack- 
ages to  him  and  followed. 

Kennedy  scarcely  paused  to  glance  about.  He  had 
chosen  a  moment  when  no  one  was  looking,  and,  bend- 
ing down  under  the  weight  of  the  packages  we  dodged 
back  of  a  cabin.  A  dim  light  shining  into  the  hold 
told  us  that  no  one  was  there  and  we  dived  down.  It 
was  the  work  of  a  moment  to  secrete  ourselves  in  the 
blank  darkness  behind  a  pile  of  boxes,  aft. 

A  noise  startled  us.  Someone  was  coming  down  the 
steep,  ladder-like  stairs.  A  moment  later  we  heard 
another  noise.  There  were  two  of  them,  moving 
about  among  the  boxes.  From  our  hiding  place  we 
could  overhear  them  talking  in  hoarse  whispers,  but 
could  not  see  them. 

"Where  did  you  put  them?"  asked  a  voice. 

"In  every  package  of  explosives  and  in  as  many 
of  the  boxes  of  canned  goods  as  I  had  time.  There 
wasn't  much  opportunity  except  while  the  stuff  was 
in  the  boat-house. ' ' 

I  looked  at  Kennedy,  wild-eyed.  Was  there  treach- 
ery in  the  crew?  He  was  leaning  forward  as  much 
as  our  cramped  quarters  would  permit,  so  as  not  to 
miss  a  word. 

"All  right,"  said  the  other  voice.  "No  one  sus- 
pects?" 

"No.  But  the  Secret  Service  has  been  pretty 
busy.  They  suspect  something — but  not  this. ' ' 

"Good.  You  are  sure  that  you  can  detonate  them 
when  the  time  comes?" 

"Positive.    Everything  is  working  fine.    I've  done 


107 

my  part  of  it.  Changing  wireless  operators  gave  me 
just  the  chance  I  wanted." 

"All  right.    I  guess  I'll  go  now." 

"Remember  the  signal.  As  soon  as  the  things  are 
detonated  I  will  get  off,  some  way,  by  wireless  the 
S  0  S — as  if  it  came  from  the  fleet,  you  under- 
stand?" 

"Yes — that  will  be  the  signal  for  the  dash.  Good 
luck — I'm  going  ashore  now." 

As  they  passed  up  the  ladder,  I  could  no  longer  re- 
strain myself. 

' '  Craig, ' '  I  cried, ' '  this  is  devilish ! ' ' 

I  thought  I  saw  it  all  now.  In  the  cases  of  goods 
on  the  Furious  were  some  terrible  infernal  machines 
which  had  been  hidden,  to  be  detonated  by  these 
deadly  rays  of  wireless. 

Kennedy  was  busy,  working  quickly  putting  to- 
gether the  parts  he  had  taken  from  the  two  packages 
we  had  carried. 

As  I  watched  him,  I  realized  that  the  burning  of 
the  Rovigno  house  was  not  the  action  of  an  incendiary, 
after  all.  It  had  been  done  by  these  deadly  rays, 
probably  by  mere  accident. 

As  nearly  as  I  could  make  it  out,  there  was  a  coun- 
terplot against  the  Furious.  Somewhere  was  an  in- 
fernal workshop,  possibly  hedged  about  by  doors  of 
steel  which  ordinary  force  would  find  hard  to  pene- 
trate, but  from  which,  any  moment,  this  super-crim- 
inal might  send  out  his  deadly  power. 

The  more  I  considered  it,  while  Kennedy  worked, 
the  more  uncanny  it  seemed.  This  man  had  rendered 
the  mere  possession  of  explosives  more  dangerous  to 
the  possessor  than  to  the  enemy. 


108  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

Archimedes  had  been  outdone! 

The  problem  before  us  now  was  not  only  the  preser- 
vation of  American  neutrality,  but  the  actual  safety 
of  life. 

Through  the  open  hatch  I  could  now  hear  voices  on 
the  deck.  One  was  that  of  a  woman,  which  I  recog- 
nized quickly.  It  was  Julia  Rovigno. 

"I'll  be  just  as  quiet  as  a  mouse,"  she  was  saying. 
"I'll  stay  in  the  cabin — I  won't  be  in  the  way." 

I  could  not  hear  the  man's  voice  in  reply,  but  it 
did  not  sound  like  Rovigno 's.  It  was  rather  like  Gas- 
kell's. 

Still,  we  had  heard  enough  to  know  that  Julia 
Rovigno  was  on  the  yacht,  had  insisted  on  going  on 
the  expedition  for  the  excitement  of  the  thing,  just 
as  we  had  heard  over  the  detectaphone. 

"Hadn't  we  better  warn  her?"  I  asked  Craig,  who 
had  paused  in  his  work  at  the  sound  of  voices. 

Before  he  could  answer  we  were  plunged  in  sudden 
darkness.  Someone  had  switched  out  the  light  that 
had  been  shining  down  through  the  hatchway.  Before 
we  knew  it  the  opening  to  the  hatchway  had  been 
closed. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   SUBMARINE   BELL 

KENNEDY  groped  about  for  a  light,  stumbling  over 
boxes  and  bags. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Craig,"  I  entreated.  "Be 
careful.  Those  packages  are  full  of  the  devilish 
things!" 

He  said  nothing. 

At  least  we  had  a  little  more  freedom  to  move  and 
I  managed  to  find  my  way  over  to  a  little  round  port- 
hole and  open  it. 

As  I  looked  out,  I  almost  fainted  at  the  realization. 
The  Furious  was  under  way !  We  were  locked  in  the 
hold — virtual  prisoners — our  only  company  those  das- 
tardly infernal  machines,  whose  very  nature  we  did 
not  know ! 

Helplessly  I  gazed  around  me.  There  seemed  to  be 
only  this  one  porthole,  open,  looking  out  over  the  dark 
and  turbulent  water,  which  slipped  ominously  past 
as  we  gained  speed. 

Why  had  Kennedy  not  foreseen  this  risk?  I  glanced 
at  him.  He  had  found  an  electric  light,  connected 
with  the  yacht's  dynamo,  and,  before  turning  it  on, 
closed  and  covered  the  port  so  that  it  threw  no  re- 
flection out. 

Par  from  being  disconcerted,  on  the  contrary,  he 
seemed  rather  pleased  than  otherwise  at  the  unex- 
pected turn  of  events. 

109 


110  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

As  I  looked  at  our  scant  and  cramped  quarters  I 
could  see  absolutely  no  way  of  getting  word  to  any- 
one off  the  Furious  who  might  help  us. 

What  he  was  working  on  I  did  not  know,  but  if  it 
was  some  sort  of  wireless,  even  if  we  were  able  to 
send  a  message,  what  hope  was  there  that  it  would  get 
past  the  delicate  wireless  detector  which  this  criminal 
must  have  somewhere  near  for  tapping  messages  that 
were  being  flashed  through  the  air?  Had  we  not 
heard  him  say  that  the  signal  was  to  be  an  S  0  S  sent, 
as  it  were,  from  the  fleet  far  out  on  the  ocean? 

I  could  well  have  believed  that  Kennedy  could  rig 
up  some  means  of  communication.  But,  if  the  pos- 
sessor of  this  terrible  infra-red  ray,  or  wireless  wave, 
secret  should  learn  that  we,  too,  knew  it,  the  only 
result  that  he  would  accomplish  would  be  to  insure 
our  destruction  immediately. 

It  was  a  foggy  night  and  a  drizzle  had  set  in.  The 
Furious  could  not  under  such  circumstances  make 
such  good  speed  as  she  was  accustomed  to  make.  For- 
tunately, also,  the  waves  were  not  running  high. 

Craig  had  taken  a  desperate  chance.  How  would 
he  meet  it?  I  watched  him  at  work,  fascinated  by  our 
peril. 

Finishing  as  quickly  as  he  could,  he  put  out  our 
sole  electric  light,  unscrewed  the  bulb  and  attached 
to  the  socket  a  wire  which  he  had  connected  with  the 
instrument  over  which  he  had  spent  so  many  precious 
moments. 

Through  the  little  porthole  he  cast  a  peculiar  disk, 
heavy,  such  as  I  had  seen  him  place  so  carefully 
aboard  the  Uncos. 

It  sank  in  the  water  with  a  splash  and  trailed  along 


THE  SUBMARINE  BELL  111 

beside  the  yacht,  held  by  a  wire,  submerged,  perhaps, 
ten  or  twelve  feet. 

He  made  a  final  inspection  of  the  thing  as  well  as 
he  could  by  the  light  of  a  match,  then  pressed  a  key 
which  seemed  to  close  a  circuit. 

I  could  feel  a  dull,  metallic  vibration,  as  it  were. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  I  asked,  looking  curiously 
also  at  an  arrangement,  like  a  microphone,  which  he 
had  placed  over  his  ears. 

"It  works!"  he  cried  excitedly. 

"What  works?"  I  reiterated. 

' '  This  Fessenden  oscillator, ' '  he  explained.  "  It 's  a 
system  for  the  employment  of  sound  for  submarine 
signals.  I  don't  know  whether  you  realize  it,  but 
great  advance  has  been  made  recently  since  it  was 
suggested  to  use  water  instead  of  air  as  the  medium 
for  transmitting  signals.  I  can't  stop  to  explain  this 
apparatus  just  now,  but  it  is  composed  of  a  ring  mag- 
net, a  copper  tube  which  lies  in  an  air  gap  of  a  mag- 
netic field,  and  a  stationary  central  armature.  The 
magnetic  field  is  much  stronger  than  that  in  the  ordi- 
nary dynamo. 

"The  copper  tube,  which  has  an  alternating  cur- 
rent induced  in  it,  is  attached  to  solid  disks  of  steel 
which  in  turn  are  attached  to  a  steel  diaphragm  an 
inch  thick.  In  the  Uncas  I  had  a  chance  to  make  that 
diaphragm  practically  a  part  of  the  side  of  the  ship. 
Here  I  have  had  to  hang  it  overboard,  with  a  large 
water-tight  diaphragm  attached  to  the  oscillator." 

I  listened  eagerly,  even  if  I  were  not  an  electrical 
engineer. 

"The  same  oscillator,"  he  went  on,  "is  used  for 
sending  and  receiving,  for,  like  the  ordinary  electric 


112  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

motor  it  is  also  capable  of  acting  as  a  generator,  and 
a  very  efficient  one,  too.  All  I  have  to  do  is  to  throw 
a  switch  in  one  direction  when  I  want  to  telegraph  or 
telephone  under  water,  and  in  the  other  direction 
when  I  want  to  listen  in.'' 

I  could  scarcely  credit  what  I  heard.  Craig  had 
circumvented  even  the  spectacular  wireless.  He  was 
actually  talking  through  water.  Craig  had  virtually 
endowed  himself  with  a  sixth  sense ! 

I  watched  him  spellbound.  Would  he  succeed  in 
whatever  it  was  that  he  was  planning?  I  waited 
anxiously. 

"There's  the  answer!"  he  exclaimed  in  sudden  ex- 
ultation. "Burke  is  on  the  Uncas.  He  tells  me  that 
he  went  to  see  Mrs.  Petzka  and  she  is  with  him — in- 
sisted on  going,  when  she  heard  that  her  husband  had 
been  engaged  by  the  Furious." 

He  waited  a  moment. 

"You  see,  Walter,"  he  resumed,  "what  I  am  doing 
is  to  send  out  signals  by  which  the  Uncas  can  locate 
and  follow  us.  She  is  fast,  but,  thank  heaven,  this 
yacht  has  to  go  slow  tonight.  Sound  travels  in  water 
at  a  velocity  of  about  four  thousand  feet  a  second. 
For  instance,  I  find  that  I  get  an  echo  in  about  one- 
twentieth  of  a  second.  That  is  the  reflected  sound 
wave  from  the  bottom,  and  indicates  that  we  are  in 
water  of  about  one  hundred  feet  depth.  Then  I  get 
another  echo  in  something  over  two  seconds.  That  is 
the  waves  reflected  from  the  Uncas,  which  has  been 
hovering  about,  waiting  for  something  to  happen. 
They  can't  be  much  more  than  a  mile  and  a  half  away, 
now.  I  had  expected  to  signal  them  from  the  shore,  a 
clock  or  something  of  the  sort,  using  this  oscillator 


THE  SUBMARINE  BELL  113 

to  get  around  that  fellow 's  wireless.  But  we  're  much 
better  off  on  the  boat." 

I  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  ' '  Surrounded  by  all 
this  junk  that  may  blow  us  to  kingdom  come  any  sec- 
ond ? "  I  demanded. 

"  Burke  says  steam  is  still  up  on  all  the  ships  tied 
up  in  the  harbor  so  that  they  can  make  a  dash  for  it. 
They  are  evidently  waiting  for  that  SOS  signal." 

"That's  all  right,"  I  said  in  desperation,  "But  sup- 
pose they  blow  us  up,  first?" 

"Blow  us  up  first?"  he  repeated.  "Why,  don't 
you  understand?  It  is  not  the  Furious  that  they  are 
after.  The  whole  war  fleet  that  is  hanging  around  in 
this  part  of  the  Atlantic  is  to  be  blown  up  in  mid- 
ocean,  as  part  of  the  plan  to  aid  the  escape  of  the  in- 
terned ships  in  New  York. ' ' 

"Oh,"  I  breathed,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "that's  it, 
is  it?" 

"Yes.  We'll  get  in  bad  all  around  if  we  can't  stop 
it — Burke  with  the  Secret  Service  and  ourselves  with 
Gaskell,  who  doesn't  dream  that  his  yacht  is  being 
used  for  the  exact  opposite  of  the  purpose  for  which 
he  thinks  he  has  lent  it — to  say  nothing  of  the  mess 
that  our  government  will  have  to  face  for  letting  these 
precious  schemers  play  ducks  and  drakes  with  our 
neutrality. ' ' 

We  waited  eagerly,  Kennedy  sending  out  and  re- 
ceiving the  submarine  signals,  and  I  peering  out 
anxiously  into  the  almost  impenetrable  fog. 

Suddenly,  apparently  from  nowhere  in  the  shifting 
mist,  lights  seemed  to  loom  up.  Instead  of  stopping, 
however,  the  Furious  put  on  a  sudden  burst  of  reck- 
less speed. 


114  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

The  Uncos  was  no  match  for  her  at  that  game. 
Would  she  escape  finally,  after  all  ? 

A  sharp  report  rang  out.  The  Uncas  had  sent  a 
shot  across  our  bows,  so  dangerously  close  that  it 
snapped  one  of  the  cables  that  held  the  mast. 

The  vibration  of  our  engine  slowed,  and  ceased,  and 
we  lay,  idly  wallowing  in  the  waves  as  the  revenue 
cutter,  bearing  our  friend  Burke  and  help,  came  up. 

A  couple  of  boats  put  out  from  the  cutter  and  in 
almost  no  time  we  could  hear  the  tread  of  feet  and 
the  exchange  of  harsh  words  as  the  government  offi- 
cers swarmed  up  the  ladder  to  our  deck. 

It  was  only  a  moment  later  that  the  hatch  was 
broken  open  and  we  heard  the  welcome  brogue  of 
Burke,  calling,  "Kennedy — are  you  and  Jameson  all 
right?" 

"Right  here,"  sang  out  Craig,  detaching  the  oscil- 
lator and  replacing  the  electric  bulb,  which  he 
lighted. 

The  commotion  on  deck  was  too  great  for  anyone  to 
make  much  of  finding  us,  two  stowaways.  The 
Countess  was  surprised,  however,  and,  I  felt,  rather 
glad  to  see  us  at  a  time  when  we  might,  possibly 
exert  some  influence  in  her  favor  if  matters  came  to 
a  more  serious  pass. 

There  was  scarcely  time  for  a  word.  Burke 's  men 
were  working  quickly.  They  had  entered  the  hold, 
after  a  word  from  Kennedy,  and  far  out  into  the  ocean 
they  were  casting  the  boxes  and  bags  overboard,  one 
at  a  time,  as  fast  as  they  could.  They  worked  fever- 
ishly, as  Burke  spurred  them  on,  and  I  must  say  that 
it  was  with  the  utmost  relief  that  I  saw  the  things 
thrown  over. 


THE  SUBMAKINE  BELL  115 

The  boxes  sank,  but  rose  again  and  floated,  bobbing 
up  and  down,  at  least  some  of  them,  perhaps  a  third 
above  water  and  two-thirds  below. 

It  was  not  for  several  minutes  that  I  noticed  that 
with  those  who  had  come  aboard  the  Furious  from  the 
cutter  stood  Bettina  Petzka.  A  moment  later  she 
caught  sight  of  Kennedy. 

"Where  is  my  husband?"  she  demanded,  running 
to  him. 

Kennedy  had  no  chance  to  reply. 

Suddenly  a  series  of  flashes  shattered  the  darkness. 
A  terrific  roar  seemed  to  rise  from  the  very  ocean, 
while  a  rain  of  sparks  lighted  up  great  spurts  of 
water  and  then  fell  back,  to  perish  in  the  dark  waves. 
The  Furious  trembled  from  end  to  end. 

We  looked,  startled,  at  each  other.  But  we  were 
all  safe.  The  things  had  been  detonated  in  the  water. 

"Only  the  fact  that  he  would  have  blown  himself 
up  prevented  him  from  blowing  up  the  yacht  and  all 
the  evidence  against  him,  now  that  we  have  discovered 
his  plot,"  cried  Burke,  excitedly,  dashing  down  the 
deck. 

Recovered  scarcely  from  our  surprise  at  the  explo- 
sion and  the  queer  actions  of  the  Secret  Service  man, 
we  rushed  after  him  as  best  we  could,  Craig  leading. 

He  led  the  way  to  the  little  wireless  room.  The  door 
was  bolted  on  the  inside,  but  we  managed  soon  to 
burst  it  open. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  surprise  which  greeted  us. 
In  a  chair,  bound  and  gagged,  as  though  he  had  been 
overcome  only  after  a  struggle,  sat  Petzka. 

Mrs.  Petzka  threw  herself  frantically  on  him,  tear- 
ing at  the  stout  cords  that  held  him. 


116  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

" Nikola— what  is  the  matter?"  she  cried.  "What 
has  happened?" 

Through  his  gag,  which  she  had  loosened  a  bit,  he 
made  a  peculiar,  gurgling  noise.  As  nearly  as  I  could 
make  out,  he  was  struggling  to  say,  "He  came  in — 
surprised  me — seized  me — locked  the  door. ' ' 

Julia  Rovigno  stood  rooted  to  the  spot — utterly 
speechless. 

There,  surrounded  by  electric  batteries,  condensers, 
projectors,  regulators,  resonators,  reflectors,  voltme- 
ters, and  ammeters,  queer  apparatus  which  he  had 
smuggled  secretly  on  the  Furious,  before  a  strange 
sort  of  device,  with  a  wireless  headgear  still  over  his 
ears,  stood  the  owner  of  at  least  two  of  the  liners  of 
the  belligerents  which  were  to  have  made  the  dash 
for  the  ocean  after  he  had  succeeded  by  his  new  wire- 
less ray  device  in  removing  the  hostile  fleet — Count 
Rovigno  himself. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  SUPER-TOXIN 

"I'VE  got  to  make  good  in  this  Delaney  case,  Ken- 
nedy," appealed  our  old  friend,  Dr.  Leslie,  the 
coroner,  one  evening  when  he  had  dropped  unex- 
pectedly into  the  laboratory,  looking  particularly 
fagged  and  discouraged. 

"You  know,"  he  added,  "they've  been  investigat- 
ing my  office — and  now,  here  comes  a  case  which,  I 
must  confess,  completely  baffles  us  again." 

"Delaney,"  mused  Craig.  "Let  me  see.  That's 
the  rich  Texas  rancher  who  has  been  blazing  a  trail 
through  the  white  lights  of  Broadway — with  that 
Baroness  Von  Dorf  and " 

"And  other  war  brokers,"  interrupted  Leslie. 

"War  brokers?"  queried  Craig. 

"Yes.  That's  what  they  call  them.  They're  a 
new  class — people  with  something  to  sell  to  or  with 
commissions  to  buy  for  belligerent  governments.  In 
Delaney 's  case  it  was  fifty  thousand  or  so  head  of 
cattle  and  horses,  controlled  by  a  syndicate  of  which 
he  was  the  promoter.  That's  why  he  came  to  New 
York,  you  know, — to  sell  them  at  a  high  price  to  any 
European  power.  The  syndicate  stands  to  make  a 
small  fortune." 

"I  understand,"  nodded  Kennedy,  interested. 

"Just  as  though  there  wasn't  mystery  enough 
117 


118  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

about  Delaney's  sudden  death,"  Leslie  hurried  on, 
"here's  a  letter  that  came  to  him  today — too  late." 

Kennedy  took  the  note  Leslie  handed  him.  It  was 
postmarked  "Washington,"  and  read: 

DEAR  DALEY  : 

I  intended  writing  to  you  sooner  but  haven't  felt 
well  enough  since  I  came  here.  The  strangest  thing 
about  it  is  that  the  doctors  I  have  consulted  seem  to 
be  unable  to  tell  me  definitely  what  is  the  matter. 

I  can  tell  you  I  have  been  badly  frightened.  I 
seemed  to  have  a  lot  of  little  boils  on  my  face  and 
new  ones  kept  coming.  I  felt  weak  and  chilly  and 
had  headaches  that  almost  drove  me  crazy.  Perhaps 
the  thing,  whatever  it  is,  has  made  me  insane,  but 
I  cannot  help  wondering  whether  there  may  not  be 
something  back  of  it  all.  Do  you  suppose  someone 
could  have  poisoned  me,  hoping  to  ruin  my  beauty,  on 
which,  to  a  great  measure,  depends  my  success  in  my 
mission  to  America  during  the  war? 

Since  I  came  here  I  have  been  wondering,  too,  how 
you  are.  If  there  should  be  anything  in  my  sus- 
picions, perhaps  it  would  be  safest  for  you  to  leave 
New  York.  There  is  nothing  more  I  can  say,  but  if 
you  feel  the  least  bit  unwell,  do  not  disregard  this 
warning. 

If  you  will  meet  me  here,  we  can  arrange  the  deal 
with  those  I  represent  at  almost  any  price  you  name. 

Try  hard  to  get  here. 

As  ever, 

LOUISE. 

Craig  looked  up  quickly.  ' '  Have  you  communicated 
with  the  Baroness  ? "  he  asked. 

Dr.  Leslie  leaned  forward  in  his  chair.  "The  fact 
is,"  he  replied  slowly,  "the  woman  who  calls  herself 
the  Baroness  Von  Dorf  has  suddenly  disappeared, 
even  in  Washington.  We  can  find  no  trace  of  her 


THE  SUPER-TOXIN  119 

whatever.  Indeed,  the  embassy  down  there  does  not 
even  admit  that  she  is  a  war  buyer.  Oh,  the  news- 
papers haven't  got  the  whole  Delaney  story — yet. 
But  when  they  do  get  it" — he  paused  and  glanced 
significantly  at  me — "there's  going  to  be  some  sensa- 
tion." 

I  recalled  now  that  there  had  been  an  air  of  mys- 
tery surrounding  the  sudden  death  of  Daley  Delaney 
the  day  before.  At  least  one  of  the  papers  had  called 
it  "the  purple  death" — whatever  that  might  mean. 
I  had  thought  it  due  to  the  wild  career  of  the  ranch- 
man, perhaps  a  plain  case  of  apoplexy,  around  which 
the  bright  young  reporters  had  woven  a  slender 
thread  of  romance.  Kennedy,  however,  thought 
otherwise. 

"The  purple  death,"  he  ruminated,  turning  the 
case  over  in  his  mind.  "Have  you  any  idea  what 
the  papers  mean  by  that  ? ' ' 

"Why,  it's  one  of  the  most  grewsome  things  you 
ever  heard  of,"  went  on  Leslie  eagerly,  encouraged. 
"In  some  incomprehensible  way  the  hand  of  fate 
seems  to  have  suddenly  descended  on  the  whole  De- 
laney entourage.  First  his  Japanese  servant  fell  a 
victim  to  this  'purple  death,'  as  they  call  it. 

"He  had  scarcely  been  removed  to  a  hospital 
where,  after  fighting  a  brave  fight,  he  succumbed  to 
the  unknown  peril,  when  the  butler  was  stricken. 
Delaney  himself  packed  up,  to  leave,  in  panic,  when 
suddenly,  apparently  without  warning,  the  purple 
death  carried  him  off.  In  three  days  three  of  them 
have  died  suddenly.  Then  came  this  letter  from  the 
Baroness.  It  set  me  thinking.  Perhaps  it  was  poison 
—I  don't  know." 


120  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

Craig  read  the  letter  of  the  Baroness  again.  "Most 
interesting, ' '  he  exclaimed  energetically  as  Dr.  Leslie 
finished.  "I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  help  you  if  I 
can.  Could  you  take  us  up  to  Delaney's  rooms?  Is 
the  body  still  there?" 

"No,  it  has  been  removed  to  a  private  undertaking 
establishment  and  the  apartment  is  guarded  by  police. 
We  can  stop  at  the  undertaker's  on  the  way  over  to 
the  apartment. ' ' 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  Leslie  was  considera- 
bly relieved  to  think  that  Craig  would  consent  to  take 
the  case.  As  for  Kennedy,  I  could  see  that  the  affair 
aroused  his  interest  to  the  keenest  point. 

"Was  anyone  associated  with  Delaney  in  the  syn- 
dicate here?"  inquired  Craig  as  we  settled  ourselves 
in  Dr.  Leslie's  car. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  coroner,  hurrying  us  along, 
' '  another  member  of  the  syndicate  was  his  friend,  Dr. 
Harris  Haynes." 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  Kennedy. 

"Haynes  has  been  a  veterinary,  but  found  that 
there  was  more  money  in  the  cattle  business  than  in 
practicing  his  profession.  The  needs  of  European 
war  seemed  to  offer  just  the  opportunity  they  needed 
to  reap  a  quick  fortune." 

"I've  heard,"  nodded  Craig,  "that  conditions 
abroad  have  led  to  a  great  influx  of  adventurers  with 
other  people's  money." 

"Yes.  According  to  all  accounts,  Delaney  and 
Haynes  have  been  leading  a  rather  rapid  existence 
since  they  came  to  New  York.  It's  quite  right.  The 
city  is  full  of  queer  and  mysterious  characters,  both 
men  and  women,  who  profess  to  be  agents  for  various 


THE  SUPER-TOXIN  121 

foreign  governments,  often  unnamed.  Delaney  and 
Haynes  have  met  about  all  of  this  curious  army,  I 
suppose. ' ' 

"I  see,"  prompted  Craig.  " Among  them,  I  take 
it,  was  this  stunning  woman  who  calls  herself  the 
Baroness  Louise  Von  Dorf.  How  friendly  were 
they?" 

"Well,  she  spent  a  great  deal  of  time,  when  she 
was  in  the  city,  up  at  the  apartment  Delaney  had 
rented. ' ' 

Leslie  and  Kennedy  exchanged  a  significant  glance. 
' '  Who  is  she  ? "  asked  Craig.  ' '  Do  you  know  ? ' ' 

"No  one  seems  to  know.  Yet  she  is  always  plenti- 
fully supplied  with  money  and  they  tell  me  she  talks 
glibly  of  those  whose  'influence'  she  can  command  in 
Washington. ' ' 

"But  she  has  disappeared,"  mused  Kennedy. 
' '  Were  there  any  others  ? ' ' 

"Haynes  hasn't  been  proof  against  their  wiles," 
answered  the  coroner.  "I  have  found  out  that  he 
was  introduced  by  one  of  the  'war  brokers'  to  a 
Madame  Daphne  Dupres." 

"And  she?" 

Leslie  shook  his  head.  "I  don't  know  anything 
about  her,  except  that  she  lives  at  the  Hotel  St. 
Quentin — the  same  place,  by  the  way,  where  Haynes 
makes  his  headquarters." 

Our  car  pulled  up  at  the  private  morgue  of  the 
burial  company  to  which  Delaney 's  body  had  been 
taken. 

We  entered,  and  Kennedy  wasted  no  time  in  making 
a  careful  examination  of  the  remains  of  the  unfor- 
tunate victim. 


122  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"I  couldn't  make  anything  out  of  it,  ev:n  after  an 
autopsy,"  confessed  Dr.  Leslie.  "It  seeme^  as  though, 
it  were  something  that  had  been  conveyed  by  the  blood 
all  over  the  body,  something  that  blocked  the  capil- 
laries and  caused  innumerable  hemorrhages  into  or- 
gans and  tissues,  and  especially  nerve  centers." 

The  body  seemed  to  be  discolored  and  variegated  in 
color,  with  here  and  there  little  marks  of  boils  or 
vesicles. 

"It  looks  like  something  that  has  depleted  the  red 
corpuscles  of  oxygen, ' '  continued  Leslie,  noticing  that 
Kennedy  had  drawn  off  a  little  of  the  body  fluids, 
evidently  for  future  study.  "As  nearly  as  I  could 
make  out  there  had  been  a  cyanosis  in  a  marked  de- 
gree. He  had  all  the  appearance  of  having  been 
asphyxiated. ' ' 

"Which  seems  to  have  been  enough  to  suggest  to 
some  imaginative  mind  the  'purple  death,'  "  re- 
marked Kennedy  dryly. 

Still,  I  could  not  help  noticing  that  it  was  really 
no  exaggeration  to  call  it  the  purple  death. 

One  of  the  morgue  attendants  had  called  Dr. 
Leslie  aside  and  a  moment  later  he  rejoined  us. 

"They  tell  me  Haynes  has  been  here,"  he  reported. 
"I  left  word  that  any  visitors  were  to  be  carefully 
watched." 

"Strange,"  muttered  Kennedy,  absorbing  Dr.  Les- 
lie's latest  information  and  then  looking  back  at  the 
body,  puzzled.  "Very  strange.  Let  us  go  up  to  the 
apartment  right  away. ' ' 

Kennedy  stowed  the  little  tube  in  which  he  had 
placed  the  body  fluid  safely  in  his  pocket  and  led  the 
way  out  again  to  our  waiting  car. 


THE  SUPER-TOXIN  123 

Delaney  had  picked  out  a  fashionable  neighborhood 
in  which  to  live.  As  we  entered  the  bronze  grilled 
door  and  rode  up  in  the  elevator,  Kennedy  handed 
each  of  us  a  cigar  and  lighted  one  himself.  I  lighted 
up,  too,  thinking  that  perhaps  there  might  be  some 
virtue  in  tobacco  to  ward  off  the  unseen  perils  into 
which  we  were  going. 

The  wealthy  ranchman,  evidently,  on  his  arrival  in 
New  York  had  rented  an  apartment,  furnished,  from 
a  lawyer,  Ashby  Ames,  who  had  gone  south  on  ac- 
count of  his  health. 

We  entered  and  found  that  it  was  a  very  attractive 
place  that  Ames  had  fitted  up.  At  one  side  of  a  li- 
brary or  drawing-room  opened  out  a  little  glass  sun- 
parlor  or  conservatory  on  a  balcony.  Into  it  a  dining- 
room  opened  also.  In  fact,  the  living  rooms  of  the 
whole  suite  could  be  thrown  into  one,  with  this  sun- 
parlor  as  a  center. 

Everything  about  the  apartment  was  quite  up-to- 
date,  also.  For  instance,  I  noticed  that  the  little  con- 
servatory was  lighted  brilliantly  by  a  mercury  vapor 
tube  that  ran  around  it  in  a  huge  rectangle  of  light. 

Dr.  Leslie  and  the  police  had  already  ransacked  the 
place  and  there  did  not  seem  to  be  much  likelihood 
that  anything  could  have  escaped  them.  Still,  Ken- 
nedy began  a  searching  examination  after  his  own 
methods,  while  we  waited,  gazing  at  him  curiously. 

By  the  frown  on  his  forehead  I  gathered  that  he 
was  not  meeting  with  much  encouragement,  when, 
suddenly,  he  withdrew  the  cigar  from  his  mouth, 
looked  at  it  critically,  puffed  again,  then  moved  his 
lips  and  tongue  as  if  trying  to  taste  something. 

Mechanically  I  did  the  same.    The  cigar  had  a  pe- 


124  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

culiar  flavor.  I  should  have  flung  it  away  if  Kennedy 
himself  had  not  given  it  to  me.  It  was  not  mere  im- 
agination, either.  Surely  there  had  been  none  of  that 
sweetishness  about  the  fragrant  Havana  when  I 
lighted  it  on  the  way  up. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  I  asked. 

"There's  cyanogen  in  this  room,"  Craig  remarked 
keenly,  still  tasting,  as  he  stood  near  the  sun-parlor. 

"Cyanogen?"  I  repeated. 

"Yes,  there  are  artificial  aids  to  the  senses  that 
make  them  much  keener  than  nature  has  done  for 
us.  For  instance,  if  air  contains  the  merest  traces  of 
the  deadly  cyanogen  gas — prussic  acid,  you  know — 
cigar  smoke  acquires  a  peculiar  taste  which  fur- 
nishes an  efficient  alarm  signal." 

Dr.  Leslie's  face  brightened  as  Kennedy  proceeded. 

"That  is  something  like  my  idea,"  he  exclaimed. 
"I  have  thought  all  along  that  it  looked  very  much 
like  a  poisoning  case.  In  fact,  the  very  first  impres- 
sion I  had  was  that  it  might  have  been  due  to  a 
cyanide — or  at  least  some  gas  like  cyanogen." 

Kennedy  said  nothing,  and  the  coroner  proceeded. 
"And  the  body  looked  cyanotic,  too,  you  recall.  But 
the  autopsy  revealed  nothing  further.  I  have  even 
examined  the  food,  as  far  as  I  can,  but  I  can't  find 
anything  wrong  with  it." 

There  was  a  noise  at  the  door,  outside  in  the  hall, 
and  Dr.  Leslie  opened  it. 

"Dr.  Haynes,"  he  introduced,  a  moment  later. 

Haynes  was  a  large  man,  good-looking,  even  strik- 
ing, with  a  self-assertive  manner.  We  shook  hands, 
and  taking  our  cue  from  Craig,  waited  for  him  to 
speak. 


THE  SUPER-TOXIN  125 

"It's  very  strange  what  could  have  carried  De- 
laney  off  so  suddenly,"  ventured  Haynes  a  moment 
later.  "  I  've  been  trying  to  figure  it  out  myself.  But 
I  must  admit  that  so  far  it  has  completely  stumped 
me." 

He  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  room  and  I  watched 
him  more  or  less  suspiciously.  Somehow  I  could  not 
get  the  idea  out  of  my  head  that  he  had  been  listen- 
ing to  us  outside.  Now  and  then,  I  fancied,  he  shot 
a  glance  at  us,  as  if  he  were  watching  us. 

"They  tell  me  at  the  burial  company  that  you 
were  there  today,"  put  in  Dr.  Leslie,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  Haynes'  face. 

Haynes  met  his  gaze  squarely,  without  flinching. 
"Yes.  I  got  thinking  over  what  the  papers  said 
about  the  'purple  death,'  and  I  thought  perhaps  I 
might  have  overlooked  something.  But  there 
wasn'W 

The  telephone  rang.  Haynes  seized  the  receiver 
before  any  of  the  rest  of  us  could  get  to  it.  "That 
must  be  for  me,"  he  said  with  a  brusque  apology. 
"Why — yes,  I  am  here.  Dr.  Leslie  and  Professor 
Kennedy  are  up  here.  No — we  haven't  discovered 
anything  new.  Yes — I  shall  keep  the  appointment. 
Good-by." 

The  conversation  had  been  short,  but,  to  me  at 
least,  it  seemed  that  he  had  contrived  to  convey  a 
warning  without  seeming  to  do  so. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  SECRET  AGENTS 

DR.  LESLIE  looked  at  Haynes  searchingly.  "Who 
was  it  ? "  he  asked.  ' '  Madame  Dupres  ? ' ' 

Haynes  did  not  hesitate.  "Yes,"  he  nodded.  "I 
had  an  appointment  with  her  and  told  her  that  if  I 
was  late  it  would  probably  be  that  I  had  stopped 
here." 

The  answer  came  so  readily  that  I  must  confess  that 
I  was  suspicious  of  it. 

"Did  Madame  Dupres  know  the  Baroness  Von 
Dorf  ?"  asked  Craig  quickly. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  returned  Haynes,  then  stopped 
suddenly. 

"But  they  didn't  travel  in  the  same  circle,  did 
they?"  asked  Dr.  Leslie,  with  the  air  of  the  cross- 
examiner  who  wished  to  place  on  record  a  fact  that 
might  later  prove  damaging. 

"Not  exactly,"  answered  Haynes,  with  some  hesi- 
tation. 

"You  knew  her,  of  course?"  added  Craig. 

Haynes  nodded. 

"I  wonder  if  you  could  locate  the  Baroness,"  pur- 
sued Kennedy. 

Haynes  seemed  to  express  no  surprise  at  the  obvi- 
ous implication  that  she  was  missing.  "I  have  no 
objection  to  trying, ' '  he  answered  simply ;  then,  with 
a  glance  at  his  watch,  he  reached  for  his  hat  and 

126 


THE  SECRET  AGENTS  127 

stick  and  excused  himself.  "I'm  afraid  I  must  go. 
If  I  can  be  of  any  assistance,"  he  added,  "don't 
hesitate  to  call  on  me.  Delaney  and  I  were  pretty 
closely  associated  in  this  deal  and  I  feel  that  nothing 
is  too  much  to  ask  of  me  if  it  is  possible  to  clear  up 
the  mystery  of  his  death,  if  there  is  any." 

He  departed  as  quickly  as  he  had  come. 

"I  wonder  what  he  dropped  in  for?"  I  remarked. 

"Whatever  it  was,  he  didn't  get  it,"  returned 
Leslie. 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  I  said,  remembering 
the  brief  telephone  conversation  with  Madame 
Dupres. 

Kennedy  did  not  appear  to  be  bothering  much 
about  the  question  one  way  or  the  other.  He  had 
let  his  cigar  go  out  during  Haynes'  visit,  but  now 
that  we  were  alone  again  he  continued  his  minute 
search  of  the  premises. 

He  opened  a  closet  which  evidently  contained 
nothing  but  household  utensils  and  was  about  to  shut 
the  door  when  an  idea  occurred  to  him.  A  moment 
later  he  pulled  from  the  mystic  depths  an  electric 
vacuum  cleaner  and  dragged  it  over  to  the  sun- 
parlor. 

Without  a  word  we  watched  him  as  he  ran  it  over 
the  floor  and  walls,  even  over  the  wicker  stands  on 
which  the  plants  stood,  and  then  over  the  floor  cov- 
erings and  furniture  of  the  other  rooms  that  opened 
into  the  conservatory.  What  he  was  after  I  could  not 
imagine,  but  I  knew  it  was  useless  to  ask  him  until 
he  had  found  it  or  had  some  reason  for  telling  it. 

Carefully  he  removed  the  dust  and  dirt  from  the 
machine  and  wrapped  it  up  tightly  in  a  package. 


128  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

We  parted  from  Dr.  Leslie  at  the  door  of  the 
apartment,  promising  to  keep  in  touch  with  him  and 
let  him  know  the  moment  anything  happened. 

At  the  first  telegraph  office  Kennedy  entered  and 
sent  off  a  long  message  to  our  friend  Burke  of  the 
Secret  Service  in  Washington,  asking  him  to  locate 
the  Baroness,  if  possible,  in  that  city,  and  to  give 
any  information  he  might  have  about  either  Haynes 
or  Madame  Dupres. 

"It's  still  early  in  the  evening,"  remarked  Ken- 
nedy as  we  left  the  telegraph  office.  "Suppose  we 
drop  around  to  the  St.  Quentin.  Perhaps  we  may 
run  into  our  friends  there. ' ' 

The  St.  Quentin  was  a  favorite  resort  of  foreigners 
in  New  York,  and  I,  at  least,  entered  prepared  to 
suspect  everyone. 

' '  Not  all  these  mysterious-looking  men  and  women, ' ' 
laughed  Kennedy,  noticing  me  as  we  walked  through 
the  lobby,  "are  secret  agents  of  foreign  govern- 
ments." 

"Still  they  look  as  if  they  might  give  you  the 
'high  sign,'  "  I  replied,  "particularly  if  you  flashed 
a  bankroll." 

"I  don't  doubt  it,"  he  agreed,  his  eye  roving  over 
the  throng.  "I  suspect  that  Scotland  Yard  and  the 
Palais  de  Justice  might  be  quite  pleased  to  see  some 
faces  here  rather  than  on  the  other  side  of  the  At- 
lantic." 

He  drew  me  into  an  angle  and  for  some  moments 
we  studied  the  passing  crowd  of  diplomats  and  near- 
diplomats. 

A  moment  later  I  saw  Kennedy  bow  and,  following 
the  direction  of  his  eyes,  looked  up  to  a  sort  of  mez- 


THE  SECRET  AGENTS  129 

zanine  gallery.  There  were  Haynes  and  a  most  at- 
tractive woman,  talking  earnestly. 

''Madame  Dupres,"  Craig  whispered  to  me,  aside. 

She  was  tall,  slender,  gowned  in  the  most  modish 
manner,  and  had  a  foreign  way  about  her  that  would 
have  fascinated  one  even  more  cosmopolitan  than  a 
Texas  veterinary. 

Now  and  then  someone  would  stop  and  chat  with 
them  and  it  seemed  that  they  were  on  very  good 
terms,  at  least  with  a  certain  group  at  the  St. 
Quentin. 

Kennedy  moved  out  further  into  the  lobby  where 
he  was  more  noticeable;  then,  with  a  Sudden  resolu- 
tion, mounted  the  steps  to  the  mezzanine  floor  and 
approached  Haynes. 

"Let  me  introduce  Professor  Kennedy,  Madame 
Dupres, ' '  presented  Haynes. 

Kennedy  bowed. 

Whatever  one's  opinion  of  madame,  he  was  forced 
to  admit  that  she  was  clever.  It  was  evident,  also, 
that  she  and  Haynes  were  on  very  intimate  terms, 
also. 

"I  hope  that  you  will  be  able  to  clear  up  the  mys- 
tery that  the  newspapers  have  found  in  Mr.  De- 
laney's  death,"  she  remarked.  "Mr.  Haynes  has 
told  me  that  he  met  you  tonight  with  Dr.  Leslie.  By 
the  way,  has  he  told  you  his  own  theory  ? ' '  she  asked. 

"We  shall  do  our  best,"  replied  Kennedy,  meeting 
her  eye  in  as  impersonal  a  manner  as  it  was  possible, 
for  it  is  always  difficult  to  dissociate  a  beautiful 
woman  from  a  case  like  this  and  judge  her  not  as  a 
beautiful  woman  but  on  the  merits  of  the  case.  "No, 
Mr.  Haynes  has  not  told  me  his  theory — yet." 


130  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"I'm  very  glad  to  have  met  you,"  she  added,  ex- 
tending her  daintily  gloved  hand  to  Kennedy,  "and 
you  may  be  sure  that  if  there  is  any  way  in  which 
I  can  be  of  service  I  shall  expect  you  to  call  on  me. 
Just  now  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me.  I  have  some 
letters  to  get  off — and  I  will  leave  you  men  to  dis- 
cuss Mr.  Haynes'  theory  without  being  hampered  by 
a  mere  woman.  Never  mind,  Harris,"  she  added  as 
Haynes  made  as  if  to  escort  her  to  the  ladies'  writing 
room. 

As  Madame  Dupres  passed  down  the  steps  there 
was  no  denying  that  she  made  a  splendid  impression. 
Haynes  watched  her  with  a  glance  that  was  almost 
ravenous.  There  could  be  no  doubt  of  her  influence 
over  him. 

As  she  passed  through  the  lobby  she  paused  at  the 
telegraph  desk  a  moment,  then  went  into  the  writing 
room. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  have  an  explanation,"  began 
Haynes,  when  she  was  out  of  sight.  "I've  been  try- 
ing to  figure  out  what  could  have  killed  Delaney.  Of 
course  I  can  only  guess,  but  I  don't  think  it  is  such 
a  bad  guess." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Craig. 

1 '  You  remember  the  mercury  vapor  light  ? ' ' 

Kennedy  nodded. 

"Mercury  vapor  lights  of  that  sort  are  a  pretty 
good  source  of  ultra-violet  rays  sometimes,"  went  on 
Haynes.  "Well,  doubtless  you  know  that  various 
plants  belonging  to  different  families  produce  free 
prussic  acid.  They  are  really  cyanogenetic  plants. 
Light  and  the  assimilation  processes  depending  on 
light  exert  a  favorable  influence  on  cyanogenesis.  For 


THE  SECEET  AGENTS  131 

instance,  a  mixture  of  citric  acid  with  a  much  smaller 
amount  of  potassium  nitrite  and  a  trace  of  bicarbonate 
of  iron,  if  exposed  to  light,  will  generate  hydro- 
cyanic acid.  That,  I  believe,  is  what  actually  hap- 
pens in  some  plant  tissues.  Animals  rarely  touch 
such  plants.  I  believe  that  such  a  process  might  be 
aided  rather  than  retarded  by  ultra-violet  rays.  What 
do  you  think  of  it?" 

Craig  was  following  Dr.  Haynes  keenly.  As  for 
me,  I  was  astounded  by  his  frankness.  I  recalled 
what  Kennedy  had  already  said  up  in  Delaney's 
apartment,  and  watched  his  face  covertly. 

"Your  explanation  is  plausible,"  was  all  that 
Craig  said.  "By  the  way,  have  you  found  out  any- 
thing about  the  Baroness  ? ' ' 

"Not  a  word,  yet,"  replied  Haynes  unhesitatingly. 
"She  seems  to  be  out  of  town." 

"And  madame — has  she  any  idea  where  she  is?" 

Haynes  shook  his  head.  "You  may  rest  assured," 
replied  Haynes  in  a  tone  that  was  meant  to  carry 
conviction,  "that  if  we  can  find  out  we  shall  be  only 
too  happy  to  do  so — ourselves." 

There  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  further  inquiry 
here,  and  I  could  imagine  that  Kennedy  was  burning 
with  anxiety  to  get  at  work  on  his  own  line  of  inquiry 
at  the  laboratory.  After  a  few  minutes  of  conversa- 
tion we  excused  ourselves  and  left  the  hotel. 

Craig's  air  of  abstraction  was  not  such  as  to  invite 
further  questioning,  and  I  left  him  an  hour  or  so 
later  in  the  laboratory  surrounded  by  his  microscopes, 
slides,  and  innumerable  test-tubes  which  he  had  pre- 
pared for  some  exceedingly  minute  investigation  in 
which  his  exact  soul  delighted. 


132  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

How  late  he  worked  I  do  not  know,  for  I  did  not 
hear  him  come  into  our  apartment.  But  he  was  up 
very  early,  in  fact  woke  me  up  stirring  around  the 
living  room. 

I  had  scarcely  completed  dressing,  while  he  scanned 
the  morning  papers  in  a  vain  hope  that  some  stray 
news  item  might  shed  some  light  on  the  mystery  in 
which  we  were  now  involved,  when  the  whirr  of  our 
door  buzzer  announced  that  we  had  an  unusually 
early  caller. 

Kennedy  opened  the  door  and  admitted  a  stranger. 
He  was  one  of  those  well-groomed  middle-aged  men 
whose  appearance  denotes  with  what  care  they  seek 
by  every  means  to  retain  youth  that  is  fast  passing. 
I  could  imagine  him  calmly  calculating  even  his 
vices. 

' '  My  name  is  Ames — Ashby  Ames, ' '  he  introduced. 
"Dr.  Leslie,  the  coroner,  has  suggested  that  I  see 
you." 

Ames  looked  as  if  he  had  been  traveling  all  night 
and  had  not  had  a  chance  to  freshen  himself  up  in 
his  haste. 

"I've  just  heard  about  that  trouble  down  at  my 
apartment,"  he  continued,  "and,  though  I  had 
planned  a  trip  for  my  health  to  the  southern  resorts, 
I  thought  it  best  for  me  to  come  right  back  to  New 
York.  It's  a  beastly  mess." 

He  had  thrown  his  hat  vindictively  on  the  table, 
though  his  manner  to  us  was  rather  that  of  one 
seeking  advice.  "Why,"  he  stormed,  "this  affair  is 
the  limit!  I  rent  my  apartment  to  an  apparently 
reputable  person.  And  what  do  I  findf  It  is  not 
even  a  mere  scandal.  It  is  worse.  The  place  is 


THE  SECRET  AGENTS  133 

closed  and  guarded — quarantined,  as  it  were.  I  can't 
get  back  into  my  own  rooms ! ' ' 

Kennedy  smiled.  "I  can't  blame  you  for  feeling 
vexed,  Mr.  Ames,"  he  soothed,  "but  I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  what  I  can  do  for  you  more  than  I  am  doing. 
We  are  making  every  effort  to  clear  the  thing  up — 
and  I  have  been  on  the  case,  you  must  remember,  less 
than  twelve  hours. ' ' 

"Oh,  I've  no  criticism  of  you,"  rejoined  Ames, 
somewhat  mollified.  "I  didn't  come  here  to  criticise. 
I  came  only  because  I  thought  you  might  like  to  know 
that  I  was  back  in  town,  and  because  Dr.  Leslie  men- 
tioned your  name.  No,  indeed — no  criticism.  Only, ' ' 
he  added,  ' '  now  that  my  vacation  is  spoiled  and  I  am 
back  in  town,  there  is  going  to  be  some  action — that's 
all." 

"It  can't  come  too  swiftly  for  me,"  encouraged 
Craig. 

"I'm  going  to  jump  right  into  this  beastly  row," 
pursued  Ames  aggressively.  "This  morning  I'm. 
going  to  look  these  people  up.  They  tell  me  that 
Baroness  has  been  spending  a  good  deal  of  time  at 
my  place.  Fine  business — eh?  She's  disappeared. 
But  I'll  get  after  that  Haynes  and  the  Madame  Du- 
pres  they  tell  me  about — and  I'll  let  you  know  if  I 
find  out  anything." 

He  had  not  given  Kennedy  a  chance  to  say  any- 
thing, and  in  fact  Kennedy  did  not  seem  to  want  to 
say  anything  yet. 

"Just  thought  I'd  drop  in,"  concluded  Ames,  who 
hadn't  taken  a  chair,  but  now  extended  his  hand  to 
us;  "I  think  I'll  drop  into  a  Turkish  bath  and 
freshen  up  a  bit.  Keep  in  touch  with  me." 


134  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

We  shook  hands  and  Ames  departed,  bustling  out 
as  he  had  bustled  in. 

Kennedy  looked  at  me  and  laughed  as  the  door 
closed.  "If  we  have  many  more  people  co-operating 
with  us,"  he  exclaimed,  "we  may  resign  and  let  this 
case  solve  itself." 

"I  don't  think  that  is  likely,"  I  replied. 

"Not  unless  we  hear  from  Burke,"  he  agreed. 
"There  is  plenty  for  me  to  do  in  the  laboratory — 
but  I  do  wish  Burke  would  wire." 

The  morning  passed,  and  still  there  was  no  word 
from  Burke. 

' '  I  think  we  might  drop  around  to  the  St.  Quentin 
for  lunch,"  suggested  Kennedy  in  the  forenoon. 
""We  might  pick  up  some  news  there." 

We  had  scarcely  entered  when  we  met  Haynes 
pacing  up  and  down  the  lobby  furiously. 

"What's  the  matter?"  inquired  Craig,  eyeing  him 
searchingly. 

"Why,"  he  replied  nervously,  sticking  his  thumbs 
into  his  waistcoat  pockets  and  then  plunging  them 
into  his  trousers  pockets  as  if  it  was  with  the  utmost 
difficulty  he  controlled  those  unruly  members  from 
doing  violence  to  somebody,  "that  fellow  Ames  from 
whom  Delaney  hired  the  apartment  had  just  re- 
turned suddenly  to  town.  I  saw  him  talking  to 
Madame  Dupres  in  the  hotel  parlor.  She  seemed  a  bit 
nervous,  so  I  went  in  to  speak  to  her.  But  she  said 
everything  was  all  right  and  that  she'd  meet  me  out 
here  in  a  few  minutes.  It's  quarter  of  an  hour  now. 
I  think  he 's  threatening  her  with  something. ' ' 

Haynes  was  evidently  worried.  I  wondered  whether 
he  was  afraid  that  Ames  might  worm  from  her  some 


THE  SECRET  AGENTS  135 

secret  common  to  the  two,  for  I  did  not  doubt  that 
Ames  was  a  clever  and  subtle  attorney  and  capable 
of  obtaining  a  great  deal  of  information  by  his  kind  of 
kid-glove  third  degree. 

"I  should  like  to  see  both  of  them,"  decided  Craig 
quickly. 

Before  Haynes  could  say  anything  more,  he  strode 
into  the  hotel  parlor.  Haynes  and  I  followed  a  short 
distance  behind. 

There  was  an  air  of  tense,  suppressed  excitement 
in  the  group,  but  of  all  of  us,  I  felt  that  Madame 
Dupres  was  the  coolest. 

"I  see  you've  lost  no  time  in  getting  busy,"  nodded 
Craig  to  Ames. 

"No,"  he  replied  easily.  "This  is  certainly  a  very 
interesting  situation  which  madame  here  has  just  out- 
lined to  me. ' ' 

Haynes  came  up  just  in  time  to  catch  the  last 
words. 

"I  say,  Ames,"  he  almost  roared,  "you  may  be  a 
clever  lawyer,  but  you  must  remember  that  you  are 
also  expected  to  be  a  gentleman.  There  are  limits  to 
questioning  a  woman  when  she  has  not  the  advantage 
of  having  a  friend  to  advise  her." 

For  a  moment  I  thought  there  was  going  to  be  a 
fight,  but  Kennedy  moved  unobtrusively  between  the 
two  men.  As  for  Madame  Dupres,  I  felt  that  really 
she  was  a  match  for  both  of  them. 

Instead  of  getting  mad,  however,  Ames  merely 
laughed. 

"Why,  Haynes,"  he  said  quietly,  "I  don't  think 
you  ought  to  complain.  I  understand  that  you,  now 
representing  Delaney's  Texas  syndicate,  have  already 


136  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

signed  the  final  contract  for  the  deal  with  those  whom 
Madame  Dupres  represents  and  have  received  a  certi- 
fied check  from  them  as  a  first  payment  to  bind  the 
bargain. ' ' 

Haynes  turned  almost  livid,  then  recovering  him- 
self, glanced  at  Madame  Dupres. 

"Why,  Harris,  I  didn't  think  there  was  any  secrecy 
about  it  now,"  she  said,  seeing  the  change  in  him. 
"If  there  is,  I'm  sorry." 

"There  isn't,"  replied  Haynes,  quickly  recovering 
his  composure.  "Only  I  just  didn't  like  to  see  a 
lawyer,  an  outsider,  quizzing  you,  that's  all." 

Jealousy  was  stamped  in  every  line  of  Haynes' 
face.  Ames  said  nothing,  but  it  was  impossible  to 
escape  the  look  of  gratification  which  he  shot  at  Ken- 
nedy as  he  brought  out  the  startling  new  develop- 
ment. 

Madame  Dupres  was  clever  enough  to  see  that  no 
good  could  come  of  prolonging  an  interview  for  which 
now  there  was  an  excuse  to  break  up. 

"Take  me  in  to  lunch,  Harris,"  she  said,  slipping 
her  arm  familiarly  into  his.  "Good-morning,  gen- 
tlemen." 

Somehow  I  felt  that  she  would  have  liked  to  add, 
"And  if  you  see  the  Baroness,  tell  her  I  have  beaten 
her  to  it." 

Ames  watched  them  depart  with  an  air  of  cynical 
satisfaction,  paused  a  moment,  then  in  turn  excused 
himself  from  us. 

What  did  it  mean?  What  was  behind  all  this  in- 
trigue. Was  it  merely  to  get  this  cattle  contract,  big 
as  that  was  ? 

We  lunched  together  at  the  St.  Quentin,  and  it 


THE  SECEET  AGENTS  137 

was  evident  that  Madame  Dupres  was  doing  her  best 
to  smooth  over  the  ruffled  feelings  of  her  lover. 

Luncheon  over,  Kennedy  plunged  with  redoubled 
energy  into  his  laboratory  investigation.  He  said 
little,  but  I  could  tell  from  his  manner  that  he  had 
found  something  that  was  very  fascinating  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  GERM   OF  ANTHRAX 

IT  was  not  until  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  that 
there  came  a  sudden,  brief  message  from  the  Secret 
Service  in  Washington : 

Mr.  Craig  Kennedy, 

New  York. 

I  have  located  the  Baroness  Von  Dorf  in  a  private 
sanitarium  here  and  will  have  her  in  New  York  to- 
night by  eight  o'clock. 

BURKE. 

"In  a  private  sanitarium — will  have  her  in  New 
York  tonight,"  reread  Craig,  studying  the  message. 
"Then  it  wouldn't  seem  that  there  could  be  much  the 
matter  with  her." 

For  a  few  moments  he  paced  the  laboratory  floor, 
alternately  studying  the  boards  and  the  yellow  tele- 
gram. At  last,  his  face  seemed  to  light  up  as  if  he 
had  reasoned  something  out  to  his  satisfaction. 
Quickly  he  reached  for  the  telephone  and  called  Dr. 
Leslie. 

"I  shall  have  the  Baroness  here  tonight  at  eight, 
Leslie,"  I  heard  him  say.  "Don't  tell  a  soul  about 
it.  But  I'd  like  to  have  you  make  all  the  arrange- 
ments to  secure  the  attendance  of  Haynes,  Ames,  and 
Madame  Dupres  here  just  a  bit  ahead  of  that  time." 

138 


THE  GERM  OF  ANTHRAX  139 

There  was  nothing  that  I  could  do  to  aid  Craig 
more  in  the  hours  that  remained  than  to  efface  myself, 
and  I  did  it  in  the  most  effectual  way  I  could  think  of, 
compatible  with  my  interest  in  the  case.  I  rode  down 
to  Dr.  Leslie's  office  and  dined  hurriedly  with  him. 
The  only  new  information  I  gleaned  was  that  Haynes 
had  visited  him  during  the  afternoon  and  had  outlined 
his  theory  of  cyanogen,  which  certainly  seemed  to  me 
to  fit  in  quite  readily  with  the  facts. 

When  we  reached  the  laboratory,  early,  Kennedy 
was  still  absorbed  in  studying  his  microscope.  He 
said  nothing,  but  apparently  had  gained  an  air  of 
confidence  which  he  lacked  the  night  before. 

The  Baroness  had  not  yet  arrived,  but  a  few  min- 
utes after  us  came  Ashby  Ames,  still  complaining 
about  the  closing  of  his  apartment  and  the  incon- 
venience the  whole  affair  had  put  him  to.  Haynes 
arrived  and  Ames  cut  short  his  tirade,  glancing  re- 
sentfully at  the  veterinary  as  though  in  some  way  he 
were  responsible  for  his  troubles.  Madame  Dupres 
arrived  shortly,  and  I  could  not  help  noticing  that 
Haynes  was  patently  jealous  of  even  the  nod  of 
recognition  she  gave  to  Ames. 

"I  don't  think  I  need  say  that  this  is  one  of  the 
most  baffling  cases  that  we  have  ever  had,"  began 
Kennedy,  with  a  glance  at  Dr.  Leslie. 

''It  certainly  is,"  chimed  in  the  coroner,  as  though 
he  had  been  appealed  to  for  corroboration. 

"In  the  first  place,"  resumed  Kennedy,  "I  discov- 
ered in  the  air  up  there  in  Delaney's  room  just  a  trace 
of  cyanogen." 

Haynes  nodded  approvingly,  glancing  from  one  to 
the  other  of  us. 


140  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"But,"  added  Craig,  as  if  he  had  built  up  a  house 
of  cards  merely  to  demolish  it,  "I  don't  think  that 
cyanogen  was  the  cause  of  Delaney's  death — although 
it  furnished  the  clew. ' ' 

"What  could  it  have  been,  then?"  demanded 
Haynes,  his  face  clouding. 

Kennedy  looked  at  him  calmly.  "You've  heard  of 
anthrax  ?  "  he  asked  simply. 

"Y-yes,"  replied  Haynes,  meeting  his  eye  fixedly. 
"Murrain — the  cattle  disease." 

"That  is  so  deadly  to  human  beings  sometimes," 
added  Craig.  "Well,  I've  found  something  very 
much  like  anthrax  germs  in  the  sweepings  that  I  took 
up  with  the  vacuum  cleaner  up  there." 

Dr.  Leslie  was  listening  intently. 

"I  can't  see  how  it  could  have  been  anthrax,"  he 
put  in,  slowly  shaking  his  head.  "Why,  Kennedy,  the 
symptoms  were  entirely  different." 

"No,  this  was  a  poisoning  of  some  kind,"  added 
Dr.  Haynes.  "Dr.  Leslie  himself  tells  me  that  you 
found  traces  of  cyanogen  in  the  air — and  you  have 
just  said  so,  too." 

Kennedy  indicated  the  microscope.  "Take  a  look 
at  that  slide  under  the  lens,"  he  said  simply. 

I  was  nearest  and  as  he  evidently  meant  each  of  us 
to  look,  I  did  so.  Under  the  high-power  lens  I  could 
see  some  little  roundish  dots  moving  slowly  through 
the  field. 

Haynes  looked  next.  "But,  Professor  Kennedy," 
he  objected,  almost  as  soon  as  he  had  time  for  a  good 
look,  "the  bacilli  of  anthrax  have  normally  the  form 
of  straight  bars  strung  together  in  a  row." 

"Yes,  rod  bacilli,"  added  Dr.  Leslie,  also  looking. 


THE  GERM  OF  ANTHRAX  141 

"Like  long  rows  of  hyphens,  slender  cylindric,  non- 
motile  chains  joined  end  to  end." 

We  looked  at  Craig  inquiringly. 

"Like  that,"  he  indicated,  substituting  another 
slide. 

We  looked  again.  The  field  had  somewhat  the  ap- 
pearance of  an  exaggerated  war  map  with  dark  units 
of  supposed  troops. 

"That's  it,"  nodded  Haynes. 

Kennedy  removed  the  slide.  "Those  are  some  an- 
thrax germs  I  obtained  here  hi  the  city  from  a  path- 
ologist," he  said,  turning  a  switch  that  threw  on  in 
a  lamp  a  peculiar,  purplish  light.  "This  is  a  machine 
for  the  propagation  of  ultra-violet  rays." 

He  placed  the  second  slide,  with  its  germs  of 
anthrax,  in  the  light,  allowing  it  to  play  over  the 
slide. 

"Now  look,"  he  said. 

We  did.  Something  had  evidently  happened.  The 
chains  were  broken  and  smaller  units  were  moving. 

"If  anthrax  germs  are  exposed  for  a  few  seconds, 
even,  to  ultra-violet  light,  they  change  more  or  less," 
Kennedy  proceeded.  "These  new  forms  are  not  stable. 
They  quickly  change  back  again  into  their  original 
form." 

For  about  ten  minutes  we  sat  hi  silence  while  the 
weird  light  played  as  if  with  ghostly  fingers  on  the 
deadly  invisible  peril  on  the  little  glass  microscope 
slide. 

"But  if  the  action  of  the  ultra-violet  rays  is  con- 
tinued," went  on  Craig,  "the  microbe  changes  into  a 
coccus,  and  then  into  a  filiform  bacillus.  This  form  is 
stable.  And  the  germ  is  changed  in  other  respects 


142  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

than  mere  shape.  It  has  entirely  new  characteristics. 
It  is  a  true  mutation.  It  produces  a  disease  entirely 
different  from  that  of  the  anthrax  bacillus  from  which 
it  is  derived.  I  have  tried  it  on  a  guinea  pig — and  it 
has  died  in  forty-eight  hours." 

Startled  as  I  was  by  this  remarkable  discovery,  I 
yet  had  time  to  watch  Haynes.  He  had  not  taken  his 
eyes  off  Kennedy  once  since  he  began  to  speak. 

"In  anthrax,"  continued  Craig,  "an  autopsy  re- 
veals an  enormous  serous  swelling,  about  the  point  of 
inoculation,  with  a  large  gathering  of  microbes  which 
are  formed  in  the  blood  and  spleen.  Death  seems  to 
be  due  to  septic  poisoning.  But  this  new  microbe — 
super-toxicus,  I  think  it  might  well  be  named — pro- 
duces no  swelling  and  scarcely  any  microbes  are  to  be 
found  in  the  blood. 

"The  lungs  are  inflamed,  with  innumerable  small 
abscesses.  That  is  the  internal  form  of  the  disease 
from  breathing  in  the  spores  of  these  microbes.  It 
has  an  external  form,  also,  but  that  is  by  no  means  so 
deadly.  One  would  say  that  death  from  the  internal 
form  of  the  disease  was  due  to  poisoning.  The  toxin 
of  this  microbe  produces  a  sort  of  asphyxiation,  cut- 
ting off  and  eating  up  the  supply  of  oxygen. 

"Such  a  condition  is  called  cyanosis.  That  is  why 
in  Delaney  it  had  the  appearance  of  cyanogen  poison- 
ing. The  effect  was  the  same.  But  the  trace  of 
cyanogen  in  the  air  was  merely  a  coincidence,  Haynes. 
It  wasn't  cyanogen  that  killed.  But  it  was  something 
quite  as  deadly — and  far  harder  to  trace — a  new 
germ ! ' ' 

We  listened,  fascinated. 

"A  French  scientist,  a  woman,  Madame  Victor 


THE  GERM  OF  ANTHRAX  143 

Henri,  a  student  at  the  Pasteur  Institute  in  Paris,  has 
shown  that  a  new  microbe  can  actually  be  created 
from  anthrax  germs  by  the  use  of  ultra-violet  rays. 
It  is  not  like  anthrax,  but  may  be  quite  as  deadly, 
perhaps  more  so. 

"This  discovery,"  he  added  earnestly,  "proves  for 
the  first  time  that  a  living  organism  can  be  changed 
suddenly  and  artificially  into  an  organism  of  a  new 
and  entirely  different  species.  One  can  scarcely 
appreciate  the  importance  of  it.  If  the  germs  of 
different  diseases  can  be  transformed,  the  germ  of 
one  being  changed  into  the  germ  of  another,  it  will 
be  a  first  step  toward  finding  a  way  to  change  deadly 
germs  into  others  that  will  be  quite  innocuous. ' ' 

Kennedy  paused  impressively  to  let  the  horror  of 
the  thing  impress  itself  on  our  minds.  "But  this 
criminal  has  been  working  for  evil  purposes  in  the 
wrong  direction — creating  a  disease  in  order  to  cover 
up  his  tracks ! ' ' 

One  could  almost  feel  the  net  closing. 

"Delaney  has  fallen  a  victim  to  a  new  germ  of 
which  someone  learned  in  Paris,"  Craig  raced  on,  in- 
exorably, "a  germ  that  would  never,  in  all  probability, 
be  discovered  by  American  doctors,  a  germ  that 
poisoned  safely,  surely,  and  swiftly  by  its  deadly 
super-toxin."  ( 

A  few  moments  before  there  had  been  a  noise  of  a 
car  outside  the  laboratory  window,  but  in  the  excite- 
ment of  Craig's  startling  revelation  we  had  paid  no 
attention. 

A  hasty  tap  at  the  door  interrupted  him.  Before 
he  could  open  it  a  very  beautiful  woman  burst  in, 
followed  by  a  thick-set  Irishman. 


144  THE  SOCIAL   GANGSTER 

It  was  the  Baroness  Von  Dorf  and  our  friend 
Burke. 

For  a  moment  the  two  women  fairly  glared  at  each 
other. 

"I've  heard  what  Professor  Kennedy  just  said," 
cried  the  Baroness,  her  eyes  snapping  fire.  "Fortu- 
nately, I  had  to  go  to  Washington  and  was  able  to 
protect  myself  by  seeming  to  disappear.  If  I  had 
stayed  hi  New  York  another  day,  there  is  no  telling 
what  might  have  happened  to  me.  Probably  I  should 
have  got  this  disease  internally  instead  of  externally. 
As  it  was,  I  thought  it  would  come  near  ruining  my 
beauty." 

Burke  tossed  a  yellow  slip  of  paper  on  the  table 
near  Kennedy.  "That  is  something  one  of  our  special 
agents  found  and  brought  me  today,"  he  exclaimed. 

Kennedy  picked  it  up  and  read  it,  while  Burke 
faced  us. 

The  Secret  Service  man  fixed  his  eyes  on  Madame 
Dupres.  "As  for  you,  my  dear  lady,"  he  challenged, 
"how  do  you  happen  to  be  in  New  York  with  one  of 
the  greatest  international  crooks  that  ever  troubled 
the  police  of  five  continents?" 

"I — in  New  York?"  she  shrugged  coolly.  "Monte 
Carlo,  Paris,  Vienna,  London — all  were  dead.  I  had 
to  come  here  to  make  a  living." 

The  Baroness  drew  herself  up  as  if  to  speak. 

"You  scoundrel — you  will  give  my  apartment  a 
bad  name  with  your  dirty  cattle  plague — will  you!" 
ground  out  a  voice  harshly  at  my  side. 

I  turned  quickly.  Ames  had  clutched  Haynes  by 
the  throat.  We  were  all  on  our  feet  in  a  moment,  but 
there  was  no  need  of  separating  them.  The  veterinary 


THE  GERM  OF  ANTHRAX  145 

was  more  than  a  match  for  the  hot-headed  little 
lawyer. 

"Someone,"  shot  out  Kennedy,  wheeling  quickly, 
"figured  that  the  cattle  deal  could  be  brought  about 
quite  naturally  if  Delaney  were  dead  and  the  Baron- 
ess out  of  the  way.  Later  he  could  reap  the  profit  and 
carry  off  Madame  Dupres  into  the  bargain.  And  if 
anything  were  ever  discovered,  what  more  natural 
than  to  throw  the  suspicion  on  a  veterinary  who  was 
supposed  to  know  all  about  anthrax  ? ' ' 

Just  then  a  half  circle  of  nickled  steel  gleamed 
momentarily  in  Kennedy's  hands.  I  recognized  it  as 
a  pair  of  the  new  handcuffs  that  uncoiled  automatic- 
ally, gripping  at  a  mere  touch. 

I  saw  it  all  in  a  flash,  as  I  picked  up  the  paper  that 
Burke  had  tossed  to  Kennedy. 

It  was  a  telegram,  and  read : 

A.  A.,  The  New  Stratfield,  Washington. 

Return  immediately.  Coroner  has  Craig  Kennedy 
on  case.  D.  D. 

"It  was  a  devilish  scheme,"  snapped  Kennedy,  as 
the  handcuffs  circled  the  fake  lawyer's  wrists,  "but 
it  didn't  work,  Ames." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   SLEEPMAKER 

"PERHAPS  race-horses  may  be  a  little  out  of  your 
line,  Mr.  Kennedy,  but  I  think  you  will  find  the  case 
sufficiently  interesting  to  warrant  you  in  taking 
it  up." 

Our  visitor  was  a  young  man,  one  of  the  most  care- 
fully groomed  and  correctly  dressed  I  have  ever  met. 
His  card  told  us  that  we  were  honored  by  a  visit  from 
Montague  Broadhurst,  a  noted  society  whip,  who  had 
lavished  many  thousands  of  dollars  on  his  racing- 
stable  out  on  Long  Island. 

"You  see,"  he  went  on  hurriedly,  "there  have 
been  a  good  many  strange  things  that  have  happened 
to  my  horses  lately. ' '  He  paused  a  moment,  then  con- 
tinued: "They  have  been  losing  consistently.  Take 
my  favorite,  Lady  Lee,  for  instance." 

"Do  you  think  they  have  been  doped?"  asked  Ken- 
nedy quickly,  eager  to  get  down  to  the  point  at  issue, 
for  I  had  never  known  Craig  to  be  interested  in 
racing. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  the  young  millionaire, 
drawing  his  eyelids  together  reflectively.  "I've  had 
the  best  veterinary  in  the  country  to  look  my  stable 
over,  and  even  he  can't  seem  to  find  a  thing  that's 
wrong. ' ' 

"Perhaps  a  visit  out  there  might  show  us  some- 
thing," cut  in  Kennedy,  as  though  he  were  rather 

146 


THE  SLEEPMAKER  147 

favorably  impressed,  after  all,  by  the  novelty  of  the 
case. 

Broadhurst's  face  brightened. 

"Then  you  will  take  it  up — you  are  interested?" 
he  queried,  adding,  ''My  car  is  outside." 

"I'm  interested  in  anything  that  promises  a  new 
experience,"  returned  Craig,  "and  I  think  this  affair 
may  be  of  that  sort." 

Broadhurst's  stable  was  out  on  central  Long  Island, 
not  far  from  the  pretty  and  fashionable  town  of 
Northbury.  As  we  passed  down  the  main  street,  I 
could  see  that  Broadhurst  was  easily  the  most  popu- 
lar of  the  wealthy  residents  of  the  neighborhood.  In 
fact,  the  Broadhurst  racing  stables  were  a  sort  of  local 
industry,  one  of  the  show-places  of  Northbury. 

As  we  swung  out  again  into  the  country,  we  could 
see  ahead  of  us  some  stable-boys  working  out  several 
fine  thoroughbreds  on  Broadhurst's  private  track, 
while  a  group  of  grooms  and  rubbers  watched  them. 

The  stable  itself  was  a  circular  affair  of  frame, 
painted  dark  red,  which  contrasted  sharply  with  the 
green  of  the  early  summer  trees.  Broadhurst's  car 
pulled  up  before  a  large  office  and  lounging-room  at 
one  end,  above  which  Murchie,  his  manager  and 
trainer,  had  his  suite  of  rooms. 

The  office  into  which  Broadhurst  led  us  was  de- 
cidedly "horsey."  About  the  place  were  handsomely 
mounted  saddles,  bridles,  and  whips,  more  for  exhi- 
bition than  for  use.  In  velvet-lined  cases  were  scores 
of  glittering  bits.  All  the  appointments  were  brass- 
mounted.  Sporting  prints,  trophies,  and  Mission 
easy  chairs  made  the  room  most  attractive. 

Before  a  desk  sat  Murchie.    As  I  looked  at  him,  I 


148  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

thought  that  he  had  a  cruel  expression  about  his  eyes, 
a  predatory  mouth  and  chin.  He  rose  quickly  at  the 
sight  of  Broadhurst. 

"Murchie,  I  would  like  to  have  you  meet  my 
friends,  Mr.  Kennedy  and  Mr.  Jameson,"  introduced 
Broadhurst.  "They  are  very  much  interested  in 
horses,  and  I  want  you  to  show  them  about  the  place 
and  let  them  see  everything." 

We  chatted  a  moment,  and  then  went  out  to  look 
at  the  horses. 

In  the  center  of  the  circular  group  of  stalls  was  a 
lawn.  The  stalls  of  the  racers  in  training  were  large 
box  stalls. 

"You  have  certainly  trained  a  great  horse  in  Lady 
Lee,"  remarked  Kennedy  casually,  as  we  made  our 
way  around  the  ring  of  stalls. 

Murchie  looked  up  at  him  quickly. 

"Until  the  last  few  races,  I  thought  so,"  he  replied, 
stopping  before  the  stall  of  the  famous  racer  and 
opening  the  door. 

Lady  Lee  was  a  splendid  three-year-old  bay,  a 
quivering,  sensitive,  high-strung  animal.  Murchie 
looked  at  her  a  moment,  then  at  us. 

"A  horse,  you  know,"  he  said  reflectively,  "is  just 
as  ambitious  to  win  a  race  as  you  are  to  win  success, 
but  must  have  hard  training.  I  keep  horses  in  train- 
ing eight  or  nine  months  out  of  the  year.  I  get  them 
into  shape  in  the  early  spring  and  am  very  careful 
what  they  eat.  If  they  get  a  vacation,  they  may  eat 
green  foods,  carrots,  and  grass  in  open  field;  but 
when  we  prepare  them  for  the  ring  or  a  race,  they 
must  have  grain,  bran,  and  soft  foods.  They  must 
have  careful  grooming  to  put  the  coats  in  first-class 


THE  SLEEPMAKER  149 

condition,  must  be  kept  exquisitely  clean,  with  the 
best  ventilation. ' ' 

"How  about  exercise?"  asked  Kennedy. 

"Well,"  replied  Murchie,  "I  work  out  horses  ac- 
cording to  age,  with  the  distance  for  fast  work  gradu- 
ally increased. ' ' 

Our  trip  through  the  wonderful  stable  over,  we 
returned  to  the  office,  Murchie  walking  ahead  with 
Broadhurst.  As  we  reached  the  door,  Broadhurst 
turned  to  us. 

"I  hope  you  will  pardon  me,"  he  said,  "but  there 
is  some  business  up  at  the  house  that  I  must  at- 
tend to." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Broadhurst,"  interjected  Murchie,  "be- 
fore you  go  back  to  town,  I  want  to  talk  over  with  you 
some  of  the  changes  that  ought  to  be  made  about  the 
boys  here,  as  well  as  their  food  and  quarters." 

"All  right,"  returned  Broadhurst;  "jump  into  the 
car  and  ride  with  me.  We  can  talk  on  the  way,  and 
you  can  come  right  back.  I  '11  pick  you  gentlemen  up 
later." 

Kennedy  nodded,  quick  to  perceive  the  cue  that 
Broadhurst  had  given  him  to  watch  the  stables  with- 
out Murchie  watching  us. 

We  sat  down  in  the  office,  and  I  looked  about  at  the 
superb  fittings. 

' '  Do  you  think  it  is  possible  for  an  owner  to  make 
a  financial  success  of  racing  without  betting?"  I 
asked  Kennedy. 

"Possible,  but  highly  improbable,"  returned  Craig. 
"I  believe  they  consider  that  they  have  an  excellent 
year  whenever  they  clear  expenses.  I  don't  know 
about  Broadhurst,  but  I  believe  that  a  good  many 


150  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

owners  don't  bet  on  their  horses.  They  have  seen 
the  glaring  crookedness  of  the  thing,  especially  if 
they  have  happened  to  be  officers  of  jockey  clubs  or 
stewards  of  various  race-meets.  Personally,  I  should 
think  a  man  of  Broadhurst's  stamp  would  not  permit 
himself  to  be  made  a  victim  of  the  leeches  of  the  turf 
— although  he  may  wager  a  bit,  just  to  give  zest  to  the 
race.  American  racing  has  often  been  called  a  purely 
gambling  affair,  and  I  think,  before  we  get  through, 
that  we  shall  see  the  reason  for  much  of  the  public 
opposition  to  it." 

Just  then  a  small  man  entered  the  office,  and,  seeing 
us,  asked  for  Mr.  Murchie.  His  face  was  pinched  and 
thin.  He  wore  the  latest  cut  of  clothes,  but  was  so 
very  slight  that  his  garments  hung  loosely  on  him. 
One  could  well  imagine  that  he  had  tried  all  sorts  of 
schemes  to  keep  himself  down  toward  the  hundred- 
and-ten-or-twelve-pound  mark.  He  was  the  very  type 
of  jockey.  He  introduced  himself  to  us  as  Danny 
McGee,  and  I  recognized  at  once  the  famous  twenty- 
five-thousand-dollar-a-year  rider,  who  had  so  often 
successfully  defended  the  Broadhurst  colors. 

"Mr.  Murchie  has  gone  up  to  the  house,"  replied 
Kennedy  to  his  inquiry. 

McGee  looked  us  over  a  minute. 

"Friends  of  his?"  he  asked,  in  a  confidential  tone. 
Kennedy  smiled. 

"Of  Mr.  Broadhurst's,"  he  said  quietly. 

There  was  a  noticeable  change  in  McGee 's  manner. 

"Just  out  here  to  look  the  stable  over,"  went  on 
Kennedy;  "a  wonderful  place." 

"Yes;  we  think  so,"  assented  McGee. 

"It  seems  strange,"  ventured  Kennedy,  "that,  with 


THE  SLEEPMAKER  151 

all  this  care,  Lady  Lee  should  not  be  keeping  up  to 
her  record. ' ' 

McGee  glanced  at  us  keenly. 

"I  don't  understand  it  myself,"  he  said.  "I  sup- 
pose lots  of  people  must  think  it  is  the  fault  of  the 
jockey,  but  I  have  certainly  earned  my  salary  lately 
with  that  filly.  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter.  I've 
done  the  best  I  can,  but  in  spite  of  it  there's  some- 
thing wrong. ' ' 

He  spoke  with  an  air  of  genuine  worry,  and, 
although  I  tried  hard,  I  must  confess  that  I  found  it 
impossible  to  fathom  him. 

"The  filly,"  he  added,  "has  her  regular  work-out 
and  the  regular  feed,  and  yet  she  seems  to  be  all  tired 
out  most  of  the  time.  Even  the  veterinaries  can't 
seem  to  find  out  what 's  the  matter. ' ' 

An  awkward  silence  followed,  during  which  both 
Kennedy  and  myself  endeavored  to  conceal  our  igno- 
rance of  horses  by  saying  nothing  about  them.  Finally 
McGee  rose  and  excused  himself,  saying  that  he  would 
be  back  soon. 

There  were  still  a  few  minutes  before  Murchie 
would  be  likely  to  return.  Without  saying  a  word, 
Kennedy  rose  and  opened  the  door  which  led  into  the 
stable.  Across  the  lawn  in  the  center  we  could  see  a 
man's  figure  rapidly  retreating  through  the  main  en- 
trance, and,  somehow  or  other,  I  felt  that  at  the  sound 
of  the  opening  of  our  door  he  hastened  his  pace. 

Kennedy  walked  quickly  around  the  circle  of  box 
stalls  until  he  came  again  to  Lady  Lee.  He  entered 
the  stall  and  looked  the  famous  racer  over  carefully. 
I  was  wondering  what,  if  anything,  he  expected  to 
find,  when,  almost  before  I  knew  it,  I  saw  him  jab  a 


152  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

little  hypodermic  needle  into  her  neck  and  withdraw 
a  few  drops  of  blood. 

Lady  Lee  reared  and  snorted,  but  Kennedy  man- 
aged to  quiet  her.  He  returned  the  hypodermic,  with 
these  few  drops  of  blood,  carefully  into  its  case  again, 
and  we  made  our  way  back  to  the  office. 

A  few  minutes  later,  the  drone  of  Broadhurst's  car 
told  us  that  Murchie  had  returned.  We  resumed  the 
talk  about  horses,  upstairs  in  Murchie 's  own  apart- 
ment, which  consisted  of  living-rooms,  a  library,  and 
bath.  It  was  a  luxuriously  appointed  place,  in  keep- 
ing with  the  tastes  of  its  occupant.  We  sat  down  in 
the  library. 

I  was  quite  interested  in  looking  about  me.  For 
one  thing,  Murehie's  idea  of  art  seemed  to  be  a 
curious  blending  of  horse  and  woman.  There  were 
pictures  of  all  the  string  of  Broadhurst  winners,  in- 
terspersed with  Venuses  and  actresses. 

On  a  little  table  I  noticed,  at  length,  a  colored 
photograph  in  an  oval  gilt  frame.  It  was  of  a  very 
beautiful  girl.  She  was  something  over  medium 
height,  with  a  fine  figure,  golden  hair,  and  deep-blue 
eyes.  Somehow,  I  recalled  that  I  had  seen  that  face 
before,  and  when  I  caught  Kennedy  looking  at  it  from 
time  to  time,  I  was  certain  of  it. 

Suddenly  it  flashed  over  me  that  the  picture  had 
been  published  in  the  Star.  It  was  Cecilie  Safford.  I 
remembered  having  read  of  Murehie's  escapades,  one 
of  which  was  his  elopement  with  a  pretty  young 
stenographer  whom  he  had  met  at  the  horse  show  a 
couple  of  years  before. 

The  talk  ran  along  about  horses  still,  but  I  noticed 
that  Kennedy  was  even  more  interested  in  Murehie's 


THE  SLEEPMAKER  153 

pictures,  now,  than  in  his  conversation.  In  the  place 
of  honor,  over  the  mantel,  hung  a  portrait,  in  an 
artistic  panel,  of  a  slender  girl  with  dark  hair  and 
hazel  eyes,  with  a  soft,  swanlike  throat  and  neck,  and 
a  somewhat  imperious  manner  of  carrying  her  head. 

I  followed  Craig's  glance  across  the  room.  There, 
in  a  frame  upon  the  wall  in  a  corner,  hung  an  en- 
largement of  a  group  photograph.  It  was  of  a  middle- 
aged  woman,  a  little  boy,  and  a  little  girl.  Then  I 
remembered  the  whole  story. 

At  the  time  of  his  elopement,  Murchie  had  a  wife 
living.  Since  then  he  had  been  divorced.  Although 
he  had  promised  to  marry  Cecilie  when  the  divorce 
was  obtained,  he  was  now  engaged  to  marry  a  wealthy 
girl,  Amelie  Guernsey. 

Broadhurst  returned  shortly  for  us,  and  we  made 
another  tour  of  the  stable,  on  the  outside,  including 
the  quarters  of  the  innumerable  employees.  Finally, 
at  a  hint  from  Kennedy  that  we  had  seen  enough  for 
the  present,  Broadhurst  motored  back  to  the  city 
with  us. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  INTER-URBAN  HANDICAP 

THAT  night,  instead  of  going  to  the  laboratory,  we 
walked  down  Broadway  until  we  came  to  a  hotel 
much  frequented  by  the  sporting  fraternity. 

"We  entered  the  restaurant,  which  was  one  of  the 
most  brilliant  in  the  white-light  region,  took  a  seat  at 
a  table,  and  Kennedy  proceeded  to  ingratiate  himself 
with  the  waiter,  and,  finally,  with  the  head  waiter. 
At  last,  I  saw  why  Kennedy  was  apparently  wasting 
so  much  time  over  dinner. 

"Do  you  happen  to  know  that  girl,  Cecilie  Safford, 
that  Broadhurst's  trainer,  Murchie,  eloped  with?" 
he  asked. 

The  head  waiter  nodded. 

"I  used  to  know  her,"  he  replied.  "She  used  to 
come  in  here  a  good  deal,  but  you  won't  find  her  in 
the  Broadway  places  any  more  these  days.  She's 
more  likely  to  be  over  on  Eighth  Avenue."  He  men- 
tioned the  name  of  a  cabaret  saloon. 

Kennedy  paid  the  check  and  again  we  started  out. 
We  finally  entered  a  place,  down  in  a  basement,  and 
once  more  Kennedy  began  to  quiz  the  waiter. 

This  time  he  had  no  trouble.  Across  the  room,  the 
waiter  pointed  to  a  girl,  seated  with  a  young  fellow 
at  a  round  table.  I  could  scarcely  believe  what  I  saw. 
The  face  had  the  same  features  as  that  of  the  photo- 
graph in  the  oval  gilt  frame  in  Murchie 's  apartment, 
but  it  was  not  the  same  face. 

154 


THE  INTER-UKBAN  HANDICAP         155 

As  I  studied  her,  I  could  imagine  her  story  without 
even  hearing  it.  The  months  of  waiting  for  Murchie 
to  marry  her  and  his  callous  refusal  had  been  her 
ruin.  Cecilie  had  learned  to  drink,  and  from  that  had 
gone  to  drugs. 

Her  mirror  must  have  told  her  that  she  was  not  the 
same  girl  who  had  eloped  with  Murchie.  Her  figure 
had  lost  its  slim,  beautiful  lines.  Her  features  were 
bloated.  Her  eyes  were  smaller,  and  her  lips  were 
heavy.  Her  fresh  color  had  disappeared.  She  had 
a  gray,  pasty  look.  All  she  had — her  beauty — had 
vanished. 

Murchie  had  been  divorced,  and  was  about  to  marry 
— but  not  Cecilie.  It  was  to  a  young  and  lovely  girl, 
with  such  a  face  of  innocence  as  Cecilie  had  when 
Murchie  had  first  dictated  a  letter  to  her  in  the  office 
at  the  horse  show,  and  had  fascinated  her  with  his 
glittering  talk  of  wealth  and  ease.  The  news  of  his 
engagement  had  driven  her  frantic. 

Curiously  enough,  the  young  fellow  with  her  did 
not  seem  to  be  dissipated  in  the  least.  There  was,  on 
the  contrary,  an  earnestness  about  him  that  one  was 
rather  sorry  to  see  in  such  a  place.  In  fact,  he  was 
a  clean-cut  young  man,  evidently  more  of  a  student 
than  a  sport.  He  reminded  me  of  some  one  I  had  seen 
before. 

I  was  getting  rather  interested  in  an  underworld 
cabaret  when,  suddenly,  Kennedy  grasped  my  arm. 
At  the  same  moment,  a  shot  was  fired. 

We  jumped  to  our  feet  in  time  to  see  a  young 
tough,  with  a  slouch  like  that  of  the  rubbers  and 
grooms  at  Broadhurst's.  The  fellow  who  had  been 
seated  with  Cecilie  was  struggling  with  him  for  the 


156  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

possession  of  a  pistol,  which  had  been  discharged 
harmlessly.  Evidently  the  tough  had  been  threaten- 
ing him  with  it. 

The  waiters  crowded  around  them,  and  the  general 
melee  about  Cecilie's  table  was  at  its  height  when  a 
policeman  came  dashing  in  on  the  run. 

The  arrest  of  the  gunman  and  his  opponent,  as  well 
as  of  Cecilie  as  a  witness,  seemed  imminent.  Kennedy 
moved  forward  slowly,  working  his  way  through  the 
crowd,  nearer  to  the  table.  Instead  of  interfering, 
however,  he  stooped  down  and  picked  up  something 
from  the  floor. 

''Let's  get  out  of  this  as  quickly  as  possible,  Wal- 
ter, ' '  he  whispered,  turning  to  me. 

When  we  reached  the  street,  he  stopped  under  an 
arc-light,  and  I  saw  him  dive  down  into  his  pocket  and 
pull  out  a  little  glass  vial.  He  looked  at  it  curiously. 

"I  saw  her  take  it  out  of  her  pocketbook  and  throw 
it  into  a  corner  as  soon  as  the  policeman  came  in, ' '  he 
explained. 

"What  do  you  think  it  is?"  I  asked.  "Dope? 
That's  what  they  all  do  if  they  get  a  chance  when 
they  are  pinched — throw  it  away. ' ' 

"Perhaps,"  answered  Kennedy.  "But  it's  worth 
studying  to  see  what  drug  she  is  really  using. ' ' 

Late  as  it  was,  Craig  insisted  on  going  directly  to 
the  laboratory  to  plunge  into  work.  First,  he  took 
the  little  hypodermic  needle  with  which  he  had  drawn 
several  drops  of  blood  from  the  race-horse,  and 
emptied  the  contents  into  a  test  tube. 

Finding  that  I  was  probably  of  more  use  at  home  in 
our  apartment  asleep  than  bothering  Kennedy  in  the 
laboratory,  I  said  good-night.  But  when  I  awoke  in 


THE  INTER-URBAN  HANDICAP         157 

the  morning,  I  found  that  Kennedy  had  not  been  in 
bed  at  all. 

It  was  as  I  expected.  He  had  worked  all  night,  and, 
as  I  entered  the  laboratory,  I  saw  him  engaged  in 
checking  up  two  series  of  tests  which  he  had  been 
making. 

"Have  you  found  anything  yet?"  I  asked. 

He  pointed  to  a  corner  where  he  kept  a  couple  of 
guinea-pigs.  They  were  sound  asleep,  rolled  up  in 
little  fluffy  balls  of  down.  Ordinarily,  in  the  morning, 
I  found  the  little  fellows  very  frisky. 

"Yes,"  he  said;  "I  think  I  have  found  something. 
I  have  injected  just  a  drop  of  blood  from  Lady  Lee 
into  one  of  them,  and  I  think  he's  good  for  a  long 
sleep." 

"But  how  about  the  other  one?"  I  asked. 

"That's  what  puzzles  me,"  ruminated  Kennedy. 
' '  Do  you  remember  that  bottle  I  picked  up  last  night  ? 
I  haven't  finished  the  analysis  of  the  blood  or  of  the 
contents  of  the  bottle,  but  they  seem  to  contain  at 
least  some  of  the  same  substances.  Among  the  things 
I  find  are  monopotassium  phosphate  and  sarcolactic 
acid,  with  just  a  trace  of  carbon  dioxide.  I  injected 
some  of  the  liquid  from  the  bottle  into  the  other  fel- 
low, and  you  see  what  the  effect  is — the  same  in  both 
cases. ' ' 

The  telephone  bell  rang  excitedly. 

"Is  there  a  Mr.  Kennedy  there?"  asked  Long  Dis- 
tance, adding,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  "Hold 
the  wire,  please." 

I  handed  the  receiver  to  Kennedy.  The  conversa- 
tion was  short,  and  as  he  hung  up  the  receiver,  Craig 
turned  to  me. 


158  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"It  was  Broadhurst  at  the  Idlewild  Hotel,"  he  said 
quickly.  "Today  is  the  day  of  the  great  Interurban 
Handicap  at  Belmore  Park  with  stakes  of  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars.  Usually  they  take  the  horse  over 
to  the  track  at  least  a  week  or  two  before  the  race, 
but  as  Broadhurst 's  stable  is  so  near,  he  didn't  do  it — 
hoping  he  might  keep  a  better  watch  over  Lady  Lee. 
But  she's  no  better.  If  the  horse  is  being  tampered 
with,  he  wants  to  know  who  is  doing  it  and  how. ' ' 

.Kennedy  paused  a  moment,  then  went  over  to  a 
cabinet  and  took  from  it  a  bottle  and  a  very  large- 
sized  hypodermic. 

We  must  have  been  among  the  first  on  the  field  at 
Belmore  Park  that  day.  Lady  Lee  had  been  sent  over 
there  after  we  left  Northbury  the  day  before,  under 
the  care  of  Murchie  and  McGee,  and  had  been  stabled 
in  the  quarters  on  the  track  which  had  been  assigned 
to  Broadhurst. 

With  Broadhurst,  who  was  waiting  for  us,  we 
lounged  across  the  field  in  the  direction  of  the  stables. 
There  was  no  doubt  about  it,  Lady  Lee  was  not  in 
prime  condition.  It  was  not  that  there  was  anything 
markedly  wrong,  but  to  the  trained  observer  the 
famous  race-horse  seemed  to  lack  just  a  trifle  of  the 
elan  which  meant  a  win. 

While  Murchie  and  the  jockey  were  talking  outside 
to  Broadhurst,  Kennedy  slipped  into  the  stall  to  look 
at  the  racer. 

"Stand  over  by  that  side  of  the  door,  Walter,"  he 
muttered.  "I'll  be  through  in  just  a  minute.  I  want 
you  to  act  as  a  cover." 

Quickly  he  jabbed  the  hypodermic  into  the  horse 
and  pressed  down  the  plunger. 


THE  INTER-URBAN  HANDICAP        159 

Lady  Lee  reared  and  snorted  as  she  had  done  before 
when  he  extracted  the  blood,  and  instantly  Murchie 
and  McGee  were  crowding  past  me.  But  the  instant 
had  been  long  enough  for  Kennedy.  He  had  dropped 
the  hypodermic  into  his  pocket  and  was  endeavoring 
to  soothe  the  horse. 

"I  guess  she's  not  very  much  used  to  strangers," 
he  remarked  coolly.  No  one  thought  any  more  of  it, 
apparently. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Broadhurst  rejoined  Kennedy 
and  myself.  I  could  see  that  his  face  showed  plainly 
he  was  greatly  worried. 

"I  don't  understand  it,"  he  kept  repeating.  "And 
what  is  worse,  the  news  seems  to  have  leaked  out  that 
Lady  Lee  isn't  fit.  The  odds  are  going  up." 

Kennedy  looked  at  him  fixedly  a  moment. 

"If  you  want  to  win  this  race,  Mr.  Broadhurst," 
he  remarked  in  a  low  tone,  "I  should  advise  you  to 
watch  Lady  Lee  every  minute  from  now  until  the 
start" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  whispered  Broadhurst 
hoarsely. 

"I  can't  say  yet — only  watch." 

While  Broadhurst  and  Kennedy  hovered  about  the 
stall  on  one  pretext  or  another,  watching  both  Murchie 
and  McGee  as  they  directed  the  rubbers  and  others 
who  were  preparing  for  the  race,  I  watched  the  trainer 
and  the  jockey  minutely.  They  certainly  did  nothing, 
at  least  now,  to  excite  suspicion.  But  might  not  the 
harm  have  already  been  done?  Was  it  too  late? 

When  the  bell  sounded  the  paddock  call,  McGee  led 
the  racer  out  of  the  stall  and  to  the  paddock.  Pres- 
ently the  field,  Lady  Lee  at  the  fore,  walked  past  the 


160  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

grandstand  and  cantered  slowly  down  the  course  to 
the  starting-post. 

Meanwhile,  following  Broadhurst,  we  had  already 
made  our  way  over  to  the  club-house  enclosure. 

It  was  not  like  the  old  days  when  there  was  money 
everywhere,  thousands  of  dollars  in  plain  sight,  in  the 
cash-boxes  of  the  bookmakers,  when  men  rushed  wildly 
about  with  handfuls  of  bills  of  large  denomination 
and  bets  were  made  with  frequent  rapidity.  And  yet 
there  was  still  a  certain  maelstrom  of  the  betting-ring 
left;  but  the  bookmakers  had  to  carry  everything  in 
their  heads  instead  of  setting  it  down  on  paper.  I 
knew  the  system,  and  knew  that,  in  spite  of  the  ap- 
parent ease  with  which  it  seemed  possible  to  beat  it, 
welshing  was  almost  unheard  of. 

The  grandstand  was  crowded,  although  it  was  quite 
a  different  crowd  from  that  at  race  meets  of  former 
times  and  on  other  tracks.  Belmore  Park  lay  within 
motoring  distance  of  the  greatest  aggregation  of 
wealth  and  fashion  in  the  country.  It  was  a  wonder- 
ful throng.  The  gay  dresses  of  the  women  mingled 
kaleidoscopically  with  the  more  somber  clothing  of 
the  men. 

Every  eye  in  that  sea  of  moving  humanity  seemed 
to  be  riveted  on  Lady  Lee  and  her  rider.  It  was  a 
pretty  good  example  of  how  swiftly  inside  news  at  the 
race-track  may  become  public  property.  Ill  news,  on 
this  occasion,  seemed  to  have  traveled  apace.  Field- 
glasses  were  leveled  at  the  horse  which  should  have 
been  the  favorite,  and  one  could  tell,  by  the  buzz  of 
conversation,  that  this  race  was  the  great  event  of  the 
season.  As  the  jockeys  maneuvered  for  position,  one 
could  almost  feel  that  some  wonderful  feats  of  mem- 


THE  INTER-URBAN  HANDICAP         161 

ory  were  being  performed  by  the  bookmakers.  The 
odds,  during  the  morning,  had  gradually  lengthened 
against  Lady  Lee. 

Like  all  thoroughbreds,  Lady  Lee  had  a  most  deli- 
cate organism,  and  the  good  rider,  in  such  a  case,  was 
the  one  who  understood  his  mount.  McGee  had,  in 
the  past  at  least,  that  reputation.  He  had  reached 
pretty  near  the  top  of  his  profession  by  knowing  how 
to  deal  with  horses  of  all  types.  All  this  and  more 
I  had  picked  up  from  the  gossip  of  the  track. 

The  barrier  was  sprung  and  the  flag  dropped.  They 
were  off!  The  grandstand  rose  in  a  body. 

For  a  moment,  it  seemed  to  me  that  McGee  had  lost 
his  nerve.  Alertness  at  the  post  is  an  important  fac- 
tor. He  had  not  got  away  from  the  barrier  ahead  of 
the  field.  Another  rider,  too,  had  got  the  rail,  and 
hence  the  shortest  route.  I  wondered  whether,  after 
all,  that  had  been  the  trouble  all  along,  for  nothing 
can  win  or  lose  a  race  quicker  or  better  than  those 
little  failures  of  the  jockey  himself. 

Lady  Lee,  I  had  heard  it  said,  was  one  of  those 
horses  that  do  not  require  urging,  but  go  to  the  front 
naturally.  Just  now,  it  did  not  seem  that  she  was 
beaten,  but  that  she  lacked  just  the  power  to  lead  the 
field.  Did  McGee  figure  that  the  horses  ahead  of  him 
were  setting  such  a  fast  clip  that  they  would  drop 
back  to  him  before  the  race  was  over  ? 

Cleverly,  however,  he  avoided  being  pocketed,  as 
those  ahead  of  and  beside  him  tried  to  close  in  and 
make  him  pull  up. 

Around  they  went  until  the  horses  looked  to  the 
naked  eye  like  toys  strung  on  wires.  Only  the  ten- 
sion of  the  crowd  made  one  feel  that  this  was  no 


162  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

play;  it  was  deadly  serious  sport.  On  they  sped, 
watched  in  a  lull  of  deathly  stillness.  Surely,  I 
felt,  this  was  indeed  a  great  sight — this  acid  test 
of  the  nerves  of  men  and  animals  pitted  against  one 
another. 

They  were  coming  into  the  stretch  now ! 

Suddenly,  it  seemed  that,  by  some  telepathic  con- 
nection, both  the  horse  and  the  rider  caught  the  elec- 
tric tension  which  swayed  us  in  the  club-house  en- 
closure. 

I  myself  was  carried  away  by  the  frenzied  spirit 
of  the  race.  Broadhurst  was  leaning  forward,  obliv- 
ious of  everything  else  in  the  world,  straining  his 
eyes  through  a  field-glass.  Murchie  was  watching  the 
race  with  a  supercilious  air.  which  I  knew  was  clearly 
assumed. 

On  they  came ! 

I  could  not  help  wondering  whether  McGee  had  not 
really  planned  to  throw  the  race.  Would  he,  perhaps 
at  the  last  moment,  lose  his  nerve  ? 

Lady  Lee  suddenly  shot  through  the  field.  A 
mighty  shout  rose  from  the  entire  grandstand. 

It  was  over  in  a  matter  of  seconds.  She  had  finished 
first  by  a  half-length!  She  had  won  the  classic  and 
the  rich  stakes. 

Pandemonium  seemed  to  reign  in  the  club-house 
inclosure.  Broadhurst  slapped  Murchie  over  the  back 
with  a  blow  of  congratulation  that  almost  felled  him. 
As  for  McGee,  they  nearly  carried  him  off  the  field  on 
their  shoulders.  Only  Kennedy  seemed  to  be  calm. 
The  race  had  been  won — but  had  the  problem  been 
solved  ? 

Broadhurst  seemed  to  have  forgotten  all  about  his 


THE  INTER-URBAN  HANDICAP         163 

previous  appeal  to  Kennedy  in  the  unexpected  joy  of 
winning. 

We  paused  awhile  to  watch  the  frantic  crowd,  and 
once,  I  recall,  I  caught  sight  of  a  stunning,  dark- 
haired  woman  grasping  Murchie's  both  hands  in  an 
ecstasy  of  joy.  Instantly  I  recognized  Amelie  Guern- 
sey. 

As  Kennedy  and  I  motored  back  to  the  city  alone, 
he  was  silent  most  of  the  way.  Only  once  did  he  make 
a  remark. 

"The  Belmore  Inn,"  he  said,  as  we  passed  a  rather 
cheap  road-house  some  distance  from  the  track. 
That's  where  I  heard  one  of  the  rubbers  say  the 
former  Mrs.  Murchie  was  living." 

That  night,  Craig  plunged  back  again  into  work  in 
the  laboratory,  and  I,  having  nothing  else  to  do,  wrote 
a  feature  story  of  the  great  race  for  the  Star. 

Kennedy  made  up  for  the  rest  he  had  lost  and  the 
strain  of  the  day  by  a  long  sleep;  but  early  in  the 
morning  the  telephone  bell  rang  insistently.  Kennedy 
bounded  out  of  bed  to  answer  it. 

I  could  gather  nothing  from  the  monosyllables 
which  he  uttered,  except  that  the  matter  under  discus- 
sion was  profoundly  serious.  Finally,  he  jammed 
down  the  receiver. 

"Good  God,  Walter,"  he  exclaimed,  "Murchie's 
been  murdered!" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  TOXIN  OF  FATIGUE 

HE  gave  me  no  time  for  questions,  and  I  had  no 
ability  to  reconstruct  my  own  theory  of  the  case  as 
we  hustled  into  our  clothes  to  catch  the  early  morning 
train. 

"Broadhurst  is  at  the  Idlewild  Hotel,"  Kennedy 
said,  as  we  left  the  apartment,  "and  I  think  we  can 
make  it  quicker  by  railway  than  by  motor. ' ' 

The  turfman  met  us  at  the  station. 

"Tell  me  just  what  happened,"  asked  Kennedy. 

"No  one  seems  to  understand  just  what  it  was," 
Broadhurst  explained,  "but,  as  nearly  as  I  remember, 
Murchie  was  the  lion  of  the  Idlewild  grillroom  all  the 
evening.  He  had  '  come  back. '  Once,  I  recall,  he  was 
paged,  and  the  boy  told  him  someone  was  waiting  out- 
side. He  went  out,  and  returned,  considerably  flushed 
and  excited. 

"  'By  George,'  he  said,  'a  man  never  raises  his  head 
above  the  crowd  but  that  there's  somebody  there  to 
take  a  crack  at  it !  There  must  have  been  some  crank 
outside,  for  before  I  could  get  a  look  in  the  dark,  I 
was  seized.  I  managed  to  get  away.  I  got  a  little 
scratch  with  a  knife  or  a  pin,  though,'  he  said,  dab- 
bing at  a  cut  on  his  neck. ' ' 

"What  then?"  prompted  Kennedy. 

"None  of  us  paid  much  attention  to  it,"  resumed 
Broadhurst,  "until  just  as  another  toast  was  pro- 

164 
\ 


THE  TOXIN  OF  FATIGUE  165 

posed  to  Lady  Lee  and  someone  suggested  that 
Murchie  respond  to  it,  we  turned  to  find  him  huddled 
up  in  his  chair,  absolutely  unconscious.  The  house 
physician  could  find  nothing  wrong  apparently — in 
fact,  said  it  was  entirely  a  case  of  heart  failure.  I 
don't  think  any  of  us  would  question  his  opinion  if  it 
had  not  been  for  Murchie 's  peculiar  actions  when  he 
came  back  to  the  room  that  time. ' ' 

Murchie 's  body  had  been  removed  to  the  local  un- 
dertaking establishment.  As  Broadhurst  drove  up 
there  and  we  entered,  Kennedy  seemed  interested  only 
in  the  little  jab  and  a  sort  of  swelling  upon  the  neck 
of  the  dead  man.  Quickly  he  made  a  little  incision  be- 
side it,  and  about  ten  or  a  dozen  drops  of  what  looked 
like  blood-serum  oozed  out  on  a  piece  of  gauze  which 
Craig  held. 

As  we  turned  to  leave  the  undertaker's,  a  striking, 
dark-haired  girl,  with  the  color  gone  from  her  cheeks, 
hurried  past  us  and  fell  on  her  knees  beside  Murchie 's 
body.  It  was  the  woman  who  had  congratulated  him 
the  day  before,  the  woman  of  the  panel — Amelie 
Guernsey. 

I  had  not  noticed,  up  to  this  point,  another  woman 
who  was  standing  apart  in  the  crowd,  but  now  I  hap- 
pened to  catch  her  eye.  It  was  the  woman  whose 
picture  with  the  two  children  hung  in  Murchie 's 
apartment.  Kennedy  drew  me  back  into  the  crowd, 
and  there  we  watched  the  strange  tragedy  of  the  wife 
that  was  and  the  wife  that  was  to  have  been. 

Craig  hurried  back  to  the  city  after  that,  and,  as  we 
pushed  our  way  up  the  ramp  from  the  station,  he 
looked  hastily  at  his  watch. 

"Walter,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  locate  Cecilie 


166  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

Safford  and  let  me  know  at  the  laboratory  the  moment 
you  find  her.  And  perhaps  it  would  be  well  to  start 
at  the  police  station. ' ' 

It  seemed  to  me  as  though  the  girl  whom  we  had 
found  so  easily  the  evening  before  had  now  utterly 
disappeared.  At  the  police  station  she  had  not  been 
held,  but  had  given  an  address  which  had  proved 
fictitious.  At  the  cabaret  saloon  no  one  had  seen  her 
since  the  incident  of  the  fight. 

As  I  left  the  place,  I  ran  into  Donovan,  of  the  Ten- 
derloin squad,  and  put  the  case  to  him.  He  merely 
laughed. 

' '  Of  course  I  could  find  her  any  time  I  wanted  to, ' ' 
he  said.  ' '  I  knew  that  was  a  fake  address. ' ' 

He  gave  me  the  real  address,  and  I  hurried  to  the 
nearest  telephone  to  call  up  Craig. 

"Have  Donovan  bring  her  over  here  as  soon  as  he 
can  find  her,"  he  called  back. 

When  I  arrived  at  the  laboratory,  I  found  Kennedy 
engrossed  in  his  tests. 

"Have  you  found  anything  definite?"  I  asked 
anxiously. 

He  nodded,  but  would  say  nothing. 

"  I  've  telephoned  Broadhurst, ' '  he  remarked,  a  mo- 
ment later.  "You  remember  that  the  former  Mrs. 
Murchie  was  at  Belmore  Inn.  I  have  asked  him  to 
stop  and  get  her  on  the  way  down  here  in  the  car 
with  McGee,  and  to  get  Amelie  Guernsey  at  the  Idle- 
wild,  too."  He  continued  to  work.  "And,  oh  yes," 
he  added:  "I  have  asked  Inspector  O'Connor  to  take 
up  another  line,  too." 

It  was  a  strange  gathering  that  assembled  that  fore- 
noon. Donovan  arrived  soon  after  I  did,  and  with 


THE  TOXIN  OF  FATIGUE  167 

him,  sure  enough,  was  Cecilie  Safford.  A  few  mo- 
ments later  Broadhurst 's  car  swung  up  to  the  door, 
and  Broadhurst  entered,  accompanied  by  Amelie 
Guernsey.  McGee  followed,  with  the  former  Mrs. 
Murchie. 

"I  don't  want  another  job  like  that,"  whispered 
Broadhurst  to  Kennedy.  ' '  I  'm  nearly  frozen.  Neither 
of  those  women  has  spoken  a  word  since  we  started." 

' '  You  can  hardly  blame  them, ' '  returned  Kennedy. 

Mrs.  Murchie  was  still  a  handsome  woman.  She 
now  carried  herself  with  an  air  of  assumed  dignity. 
Amelie  Guernsey  had  regained  her  color  in  the  excite- 
ment of  the  ride  and  was,  if  anything,  more  beautiful 
than  ever.  But,  as  Broadhurst  intimated,  one  could 
almost  feel  the  frigidity  of  the  atmosphere  as  the 
three  women  who  had  played  such  dramatic  parts  in 
Murchie 's  life  sat  there,  trying  to  watch  and,  at  the 
same  time,  avoid  each  other's  gaze. 

The  suspense  was  relieved  when  O'Connor  came  in 
in  a  department  car.  With  him  were  the  young  man 
who  had  been  seated  with  Cecilie  at  the  table  the  night 
of  the  fight  and  also  the  gunman. 

' '  The  magistrate  in  the  night  court  settled  the  case 
that  night,"  informed  O'Connor,  under  his  breath, 
laying  down  two  slips  of  paper  before  Kennedy,  "but 
I  have  their  pedigrees.  That  fellow 's  name  is  Ronald 
Mawson,"  he  said,  pointing  to  Cecilie 's  companion, 
then  indicating  the  gunman,  "That's  Frank  Giani — 
Frank  the  Wop." 

I  watched  Mawson  and  Cecilie  closely,  but  could 
discover  nothing.  They  scarcely  looked  at  each  other. 

McGee,  however,  glared  at  both  Mawson  and  the 
gunman,  though  none  of  them  said  a  word. 


168  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

' '  They  used  to  be  out  there  as  stable-boys  at  Broad- 
hurst 's,"  I  heard  O'Connor  continue,  in  a  whisper. 
"I  think  they  had  a  run-in  and  were  fired.  Each  says 
the  other  got  him  in  wrong. ' ' 

A  moment  later  Kennedy  began : 

"When  you  came  to  my  laboratory  the  other  day, 
Mr.  Broadhurst,"  he  said,  "you  remarked  that  per- 
haps this  case  might  be  a  little  out  of  my  line,  but 
that  I  might  find  it  sufficiently  interesting.  I  can 
assure  you  that  I  have  not  only  found  it  interesting, 
but  astounding.  I  have  seldom  had  the  privilege  of 
unraveling  a  mystery  which  was  so  cleverly  rigged 
and  in  which  there  are  so  many  cross-currents  of 
human  passion." 

"Then  you  think  Lady  Lee  was  doped?"  asked 
Broadhurst. 

"Doped?"  interjected  McGee  quickly.  "Why, 
Mr.  Broadhurst,  you  remember  what  the  veterinary 
said.  He  couldn't  find  any  signs  of  heroin  or  any 
other  dope  they  use. ' ' 

"That's  the  devilish  ingenuity  of  it  all,"  shot  out 
Kennedy  suddenly,  holding  up  a  little  beaker  in 
which  there  was  some  colorless  fluid.  "I  am  merely 
going  to  show  you  now  what  can  be  done  by  the  use 
of  one  of  the  latest  discoveries  of  physiological  chem- 
istry." 

He  took  a  syringe  and,  drawing  back  the  plunger, 
filled  it  with  the  liquid.  With  a  slight  jab  of  cocaine 
to  make  the  little  operation  absolutely  painless,  he 
injected  the  fluid  into  the  livelier  of  our  two  guinea- 
pigs. 

"While  you  and  Murchie  were  absent  the  first  day 
that  I  went  out  to  your  stable,  I  succeeded  in  draw- 


THE  TOXIN  OF  FATIGUE  169 

ing  off  some  of  the  blood  of  Lady  Lee,"  Craig  re- 
sumed, talking  to  Broadhurst.  "Here,  in  my  labora- 
tory, I  have  studied  it.  Lady  Lee,  that  day,  had  had 
no  more  than  the  ordinary  amount  of  exercise,  yet  she 
was  completely  fagged." 

By  this  time  the  little  guinea-pig  had  become  more 
and  more  listless  and  was  now  curled  up  in  a  corner 
sound  asleep. 

' '  I  have  had  to  work  very  hurriedly  this  morning, ' ' 
Craig  continued,  "but  it  has  only  been  covering 
ground  over  which  I  have  already  gone.  I  was  already 
studying  a  peculiar  toxin.  And  from  the  fluid  I  ob- 
tained from  Murchie's  body,  I  have  been  able  to  cal- 
culate that  a  deadly  dose  of  that  same  powerful  poison 
killed  him." 

Kennedy  plunged  directly  from  this  startling  rev- 
elation into  his  proof. 

"Perhaps  you  have  heard  of  the  famous  German 
scientist,  Weichardt,  of  Berlin,"  he  resumed,  "and 
his  remarkable  investigations  into  the  toxin  of  fatigue. 
Scientists  define  fatigue  as  the  more  or  less  complete 
loss  of  the  power  of  muscles  to  respond  to  stimulation 
due  to  their  normal  activity.  An  interval  of  rest  is 
usually  enough  to  bring  about  their  return  to  some 
degree  of  power.  But  for  complete  return  to  normal 
condition,  a  long  interval  may  be  necessary. 

"As  the  result  of  chemical  changes  which  occur  in 
a  muscle  from  contraction,  certain  substances  are 
formed  which  depress  or  inhibit  the  power  of  con- 
traction. Extracts  made  from  the  fatigued  muscles 
of  one  frog,  for  instance,  when  injected  into  the  cir- 
culation of  another  frog  bring  on  an  appearance  of 
fatigue  in  the  latter.  Extracts  from  unfatigued  mus- 


170  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

cles  give  no  such  results.  More  than  that,  the  produc- 
tion of  this  toxin  of  fatigue  by  the  exercise  of  one  set 
of  muscles,  such  as  those  of  the  legs  in  walking, 
greatly  diminishes  the  amount  of  work  obtainable 
from  other  unused  muscles,  such  as  those  of  the 
arms." 

Kennedy  went  on,  looking  at  the  sleeping  guinea- 
pig  rather  than  at  us : 

"Weichardt  has  isolated  from  fatigued  muscles  a 
true  toxin  of  a  chemical  and  physical  nature,  like  the 
bacterial  toxins,  which,  when  introduced  into  the 
blood,  gives  rise  to  the  phenomena  of  fatigue.  This  is 
the  toxin  of  fatigue — kenotoxin.  Those  who  have 
studied  the  subject  have  found  at  least  three  fatigue 
substances — free  sarcolactic  acid,  carbon  dioxide,  and 
monopotassium  phosphate,  which  is  so  powerful  that, 
after  the  injection  of  one-fifteenth  of  a  gram,  the 
poisoned  muscle  shows  signs  of  fatigue  and  is  scarcely 
able  to  lift  a  weight  easily  lifted  in  normal  conditions. 
Other  fatigue  products  may  be  discovered;  but,  if 
present  in  large  quantity  or  in  small  quantity  for  a 
long  time,  each  of  the  substances  I  have  named  will 
cause  depression  or  fatigue  of  muscles. 

"Further  than  that,"  continued  Kennedy,  "the 
depressing  influence  of  these  substances  on  what  is 
known  as  striated  muscle — heart  muscle — is  well 
known.  The  physician  at  the  Idlewild  might  very 
well  have  mistaken  the  cause  of  the  relaxation  of 
Murchie's  heart.  For  German  investigators  have  also 
found  that  the  toxin  of  fatigue,  when  injected  into  the 
circulation  of  a  fresh  animal,  may  not  only  bring  on 
fatigue  but  may  even  cause  death — as  it  did  finally 
here."  Kennedy  paused.  "Lady  Lee,"  he  said, 


THE  TOXIN  OF  FATIGUE  171 

looking  from  one  to  the  other  of  his  audience  keenly, 
"Lady  Lee  was  the  first  victim  of  the  fiendish  cunning 
of  this—  " 

A  shrill  voice  interrupted. 

' '  But  Lady  Lee  won  the  race ! ' ' 

It  was  McGee,  the  jockey.  Kennedy  looked  at  him 
a  moment,  then  tapped  another  beaker  on  the  table 
before  him. 

"Weichardt  has  also  obtained,  by  the  usual  meth- 
ods," he  replied,  "an  antitoxin  with  the  power  of 
neutralizing  the  fatigue  properties  of  the  toxin.  You 
thought  Lady  Lee  was  not  friendly  with  strangers 
that  morning  at  the  track.  She  was  not,  when  the 
stranger  jabbed  a  needle  into  her  neck  and  pumped 
an  extra  large  dose  of  the  antitoxin  of  fatigue  into  her 
just  in  time  to  neutralize,  before  the  race,  the  long 
series  of  injections  of  fatigue  toxin." 

Kennedy  was  now  traveling  rapidly  toward  the 
point  which  he  had  in  view.  He  drew  from  his  pocket 
the  little  bottle  which  he  had  picked  up  that  night  in 
the  cabaret  saloon. 

' '  One  word  more, ' '  he  said,  as  he  held  up  the  bottle 
and  faced  Cecilie  Safford,  who  was  now  trembling  like 
a  leaf  ready  to  fall:  "If  one  with  shattered  nerves 
were  unable  to  sleep,  can  you  imagine  what  would  be 
a  most  ideal  sedative — especially  if  to  take  almost  any 
other  drug  would  be  merely  to  substitute  that  habit 
for  another?" 

He  waited  a  moment,  then  answered  his  own  ques- 
tion. 

"Naturally,"  he  proceeded,  "it  might  be,  theo- 
retically at  least,  a  small  dose  of  those  products  of 
fatigue  by  which  nature  herself  brings  on  sleep.  I  am 


172  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

not  going  into  the  theory  of  the  thing.  The  fact  that 
you  had  such  a  thing  is  all  that  interests  me. ' ' 

I  watched  the  girl's  eyes  as  they  were  riveted  on 
Kennedy.  She  seemed  to  be  fascinated,  horrified. 

"This  bottle  contains  a  weak  solution  of  the  toxin 
of  fatigue,"  persisted  Kennedy. 

I  thought  she  would  break  down,  but,  by  a  mighty 
effort,  she  kept  her  composure  and  said  nothing. 

"Someone  was  trying  to  discredit  and  ruin 
Murchie  by  making  the  horses  he  trained  lose  races — 
somebody  whose  life  and  happiness  Murchie  himself 
had  already  ruined. 

"That  person,"  pursued  Kennedy  relentlessly, 
"was  defeated  in  the  attempt  to  discredit  Murchie 
when,  by  my  injection  of  the  antitoxin,  Lady  Lee 
finally  did  win.  In  that  person's  mind,  Murchie,  not 
the  horse,  had  won. 

"The  wild  excitement  over  Murchie 's  vindication 
drove  that  person  to  desperation.  There  was  only 
one  more  road  to  revenge.  It  was  to  wait  until 
Murchie  himself  could  be  easily  overpowered,  when 
an  overwhelming  dose  of  this  fatigue  toxin  could  be 
shot  into  him — the  weapon  that  had  failed  on  the 
horses  turned  on  himself.  Besides,  no  one — not  even 
the  most  expert  physician  or  chemist — would  ever  sus- 
pect that  Murchie 's  death  was  not  natural. ' ' 

"That — that  bottle  is  mine — mine!"  shouted  a  wild 
voice  interrupting.  ' '  I  took  it — I  used  it — I — ' ' 

"Just  a  moment,  Miss  Safford,"  entreated  Kennedy. 
"That  person,"  he  rapped  out  sharply,  picking  up 
the  pedigrees  O'Connor  had  handed  him,  "that  per- 
son gave  the  toxin  to  a  poor  dope  fiend  as  a  sleeping- 
potion  in  one  strength,  gave  it  to  Lady  Lee  in  still 


THE  TOXIN  OF  FATIGUE  173 

another  strength,  and  to  Murchie  in  its  most  fatal 
strength.  It  was  the  poor  and  unknown  pharmacist 
described  in  this  pedigree  whose  dream  of  happiness 
Murchie  shattered  when  he  captivated  Cecilie  Safford 
— her  deserted  lover,  Ronald  Mawson." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  X-RAY  DETECTIVE 

"I  WANT  to  consult  you,  Professor  Kennedy,  about 
a  most  baffling  case  of  sudden  death  under  suspicious 
circumstances.  Blythe  is  my  name — Dr.  Blythe. ' ' 

Our  visitor  spoke  deliberately,  without  the  least 
perturbation  of  manner,  yet  one  could  see  that  he  was 
a  physician  who  only  as  a  last  resort  would  appeal  to 
outside  aid. 

"What  is  the  case,  Doctor?"  queried  Craig. 

The  Doctor  cleared  his  throat.  "It  is  of  a  very 
pretty  young  art  student,  Rhoda  Fleming,  who  re- 
turned to  New  York  from  France  shortly  after  the 
outbreak  of  the  war  and  opened  a  studio  in  the  New 
Studio  Apartments  on  Park  Avenue,  not  far  from  my 
office,"  began  Dr.  Blythe,  pausing  as  if  to  set  down 
accurately  every  feature  of  the  "case  history"  of  a 
patient. 

"Yes,"  prompted  Craig. 

"About  a  week  ago,"  the  Doctor  resumed,  "I  was 
called  to  attend  Miss  Fleming.  I  think  the  call  came 
from  her  maid,  Leila,  but  I  am  not  sure.  She  had 
suddenly  been  taken  ill  about  an  hour  after  dinner. 
She  was  cyanotic,  had  a  rapid  pulse,  and  nausea.  By 
means  of  stimulants  I  succeeded  in  bringing  her 
around,  however,  and  she  recovered.  It  looked  like 
acute  gastritis, 

174 


THE  X-RAY  DETECTIVE  175 

"But  last  night,  at  about  the  same  time,  I  was 
called  again  to  see  the  same  girl.  She  was  in  an  even 
more  serious  condition,  with  all  the  former  symptoms 
magnified,  unconscious,  and  suffering  severe  pains  in 
the  abdominal  region.  Her  temperature  was  103. 
Apparently  there  had  been  too  great  a  delay,  for  she 
died  in  spite  of  everything  I  could  do  without  regain- 
ing consciousness. ' ' 

Kennedy  regarded  the  Doctor's  face  pointedly. 
"Did  the  necropsy  show  that  she  was — er — " 

"No,"  interrupted  the  Doctor,  catching  his  glance. 
"She  was  not  about  to  become  a  mother.  And  I  doubt 
the  suicide  theory,  too. ' '  He  paused  and  then  after  a 
moment's  consideration,  added  deliberately,  "When 
she  recovered  from  the  first  attack  she  seemed  to  have 
a  horror  of  death  and  could  offer  no  explanation 
of  her  sudden  illness." 

"But  what  other  reason  could  there  have  been  for 
her  condition?"  persisted  Kennedy,  determined  to 
glean  all  he  could  of  the  Doctor's  personal  impres- 
sions. 

Dr.  Blythe  hesitated  again,  as  if  considering  a  point 
in  medical  ethics,  then  suddenly  seemed  to  allow  him- 
self to  grow  confidential.  "I'm  very  much  interested 
in  art  myself,  Professor,"  he  explained.  "I  suppose 
you  have  heard  of  the  famous  'Fete  du  Printemps,' 
by  Watteau?" 

Kennedy  nodded  vaguely. 

' '  The  original,  you  know, ' '  Dr.  Blythe  went  on  hur- 
riedly, "hung  in  the  chateau  of  the  Comtesse  de  la 
Fontaine  in  the  Forest  of  Compiegne,  and  was  im- 
mensely valuable — oh — worth  probably  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  or  more." 


176  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

A  moment  later  Dr.  Blythe  leaned  over  with  ill- 
suppressed  excitement.  "  After  I  brought  her  around 
the  first  time  she  confided  to  me  that  it  had  been  en- 
trusted to  her  by  the  Comtesse  for  safe-keeping  during 
the  war,  that  she  had  taken  it  first  to  London,  but 
fearing  it  would  not  be  safe  even  there,  had  brought 
it  to  New  York." 

"H'm,"  mused  Kennedy,  "that  is  indeed  strange. 
What's  your  theory,  then, — foul  play?" 

Dr.  Blythe  looked  from  Kennedy  to  me,  then  said 
slowly, ' '  Yes — but  we  can 't  find  a  trace  of  poison.  Dr. 
Leslie — the  Coroner — I  believe  you  know  him — and  I 
can  find  nothing,  in  fact.  It  is  most  incomprehen- 
sible." 

I  noticed  that  Kennedy  was  watching  Dr.  Blythe 
rather  keenly  and,  somehow,  I  fell  to  trying  to  fathom 
both  his  story  and  himself,  without,  I  confess,  any 
result. 

"I  should  like  to  look  her  apartment  over,"  re- 
marked Craig  with  alacrity,  needing  no  second  invita- 
tion to  take  up  a  mystery  that  already  promised  many 
surprises. 

The  New  Studio  Apartments  were  in  a  huge  twelve- 
story  ornate  Renaissance  affair  on  upper  Park  Ave- 
nue, an  example  of  the  rapidly  increasing  co-operative 
idea  which  the  impractical  artistic  temperament  has 
proved  soundly  practical. 

It  was  really  a  studio  building,  too,  designed  for 
those  artists  who  preferred  luxury  and  convenience 
to  the  more  romantic  atmosphere  of  the  "Alley" — 
which  is  the  way  the  initiated  refer  to  the  mews  back 
of  Washington  Square,  known  as  MacdougaPs  Alley, 
famous  in  fact  and  fiction. 


THE  X-RAY  DETECTIVE  177 

Rhoda  Fleming's  was  a  most  attractively  arranged 
suite,  with  a  large  studio  commanding  the  north  light 
and  having  a  ceiling  twice  as  high  as  the  ordinary 
room^  which  allowed  of  the  other  rooms  being,  as  it 
were,  on  two  floors,  since  their  ceilings  were  of  ordi- 
nary height.  On  every  side,  as  we  entered,  we  could 
see  works  of  art  in  tasteful  profusion. 

Since  the  removal  of  the  body  of  the  beautiful  but 
unfortunate  young  art  student,  no  one  had  been  left 
there,  except  the  maid,  Leila.  Leila  was  herself  a 
very  pretty  girl,  one  of  those  who  need  neither  fine 
clothes  nor  expensive  jewels  to  attract  attention.  In 
fact  she  had  neither.  I  noticed  that  she  was  neatly 
and  tastefully  dressed,  however,  and  wore  a  plain  gold 
band  on  the  ring  finger  of  her  left  hand.  She  seemed 
to  be  heartbroken  over  the  death  of  her  mistress,  but 
how  much  of  it  was  genuine,  I  could  not  say,  though 
I  am  frank  to  admit  that  even  before  I  saw  her  I  had 
determined  that  she  was  worth  watching. 

"Show  me  just  how  you  discovered  Miss  Fleming," 
asked  Kennedy  of  Dr.  Blythe,  getting  down  to  work 
immediately. 

"Why,"  he  replied,  "when  I  got  here  she  was  lying 
half  across  that  divan,  as  if  she  had  fallen  there, 
fainting.  Each  time  a  little  table  had  been  set  for  a 
light  dinner  and  the  dinner  had  been  eaten.  The 
remains  were  on  the  table.  And,"  Blythe  added  sig- 
nificantly, "each  time  there  was  a  place  set  for  an- 
other person.  That  person  was  gone. ' ' 

Kennedy  had  turned  inquiringly  to  Leila. 

"I  was  engaged  only  for  the  day,"  she  answered 
modestly.  ' '  Evenings  when  Mademoiselle  had  a  little 
party  she  would  often  pay  me  extra  to  come  back 


178  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

again  and  clean  up.  She  liked  to  prepare  little 
chafing-dish  dinners — but  disliked  the  cleaning." 

Dr.  Blythe  nodded  significantly,  as  though  that  ac- 
counted for  the  reason  why  it  had  seemed  to  be  Leila 
who  had  called  him  in  both  times. 

Kennedy  and  I  had  found  the  little  pantry  closet 
in  the  kitchenette  where  the  maid  kept  the  few  house- 
keeping utensils.  He  took  a  hasty  inventory  of  the 
slender  stock,  among  which,  for  some  reason,  I  noted 
a  bottle  of  a  well-known  brand  of  meat  sauce,  one 
of  those  dark-colored  appetizers,  with  a  heavy,  burnt- 
grain  odor. 

Craig's  next  move  was  to  ransack  the  little  escri- 
toire in  the  corner  of  the  studio  room  itself.  That  was 
the  work  of  but  a  few  moments  and  resulted  in  his 
finding  a  packet  of  letters  in  the  single  drawer. 

He  glanced  over  them  hastily.  Several  of  an  in- 
timately personal  nature  were  signed,  "Arnold 
Faber."  Faber,  I  knew,  was  a  young  art  collector, 
very  wealthy  and  something  more  than  a  mere  dilet- 
tante. Other  letters  were  of  business  dealings  with 
well-known  Fifth  Avenue  art  galleries  of  Pierre  Jacot 
&  Cie.,  quite  natural  in  view  of  Miss  Fleming's  long 
residence  in  France. 

The  letters  had  scarcely  been  replaced  when  the 
door  of  the  studio  opened  and  I  caught  sight  of  a 
tastefully  gowned  young  woman,  quite  apparently  a 
foreigner  acclimated  to  New  York. 

"Oh,  I  beg  pardon,"  she  apologized.  "I  heard 
voices  and  thought  perhaps  it  was  some  of  Rhoda's 
relatives  from  the  West  and  that  I  could  do  some- 
thing." 

"Good-evening,     Miss     Tourville,"     greeted    Dr. 


THE  X-RAY  DETECTIVE  179 

Blythe,  who  was  evidently  well-known  to  this  colony 
of  artists.  A  moment  later  he  introduced  us,  ' '  This, 
by  the  way,  is  Miss  Rita  Tourville,  an  intimate  friend 
of  Miss  Fleming,  who  has  the  studio  above." 

"We  bowed,  exchanged  the  conventional  remarks 
that  such  a  tragedy  made  necessary,  and  Rita  Tour- 
ville excused  herself.  Somehow  or  other,  however,  I 
could  not  resist  the  impression  that  she  had  come  in 
purposely  to  see  what  was  going  on. 

On  our  way  out,  after  promising  Dr.  Blythe  to  meet 
him  later  in  the  night  at  the  office  of  the  Coroner, 
Kennedy,  instead  of  going  directly  to  the  street,  de- 
scended to  the  basement  of  the  apartment  and  sought 
the  janitor,  who  lived  there. 

"I'd  like  very  much  to  see  the  rubbish  that  has 
come  down  from  Miss  Fleming's  apartment,"  he 
asked,  slipping  into  the  janitor's  hand  a  large  silver 
coin. 

"It's  all  mixed  up  with  rubbish  from  all  the  apart- 
ments on  that  side  of  the  house,"  replied  the  janitor, 
indicating  a  bulging  burlap  bag. 

"Miss  Tourville 's,  also?"  queries  Craig. 

The  janitor  nodded  assent. 

Kennedy  surely  obtained  his  money's  worth  of  junk 
as  the  janitor  spread  the  contents  of  the  bag  on  the 
cellar  floor.  With  his  walking  stick  he  pawed  over  it 
minutely,  now  and  then  stooping  to  examine  some- 
thing more  or  less  carefully.  He  had  gone  through 
somewhat  more  than  half  of  the  rubbish  that  had  come 
from  the  apartments  when  he  came  upon  what  looked 
like  the  broken  remains  of  a  little  one-ounce  dark-col- 
ored, labelless  bottle. 

Kennedy  picked  it  up  and  sniffed  at  it.    He  said 


180  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

nothing,  but  I  saw  his  brow  knit  with  thought.  A 
moment  later  he  wrapped  it  in  a  piece  of  tissue  paper, 
thanked  the  janitor,  and  we  mounted  the  cellar  steps 
to  the  street. 

"I  think  I  '11  try  to  see  Faber  tonight, "  he  remarked 
as  we  walked  down  the  avenue.  ' '  It  will  do  no  harm 
at  any  rate." 

Fortunately,  we  found  the  young  millionaire  art 
connoisseur  at  home,  in  a  big  house  which  he  had  in- 
herited from  his  father,  on  Madison  Avenue,  in  the 
Murray  Hill  section. 

"The  death  of  Miss  Fleming  has  completely  upset 
me,"  he  confessed  after  we  had  introduced  ourselves 
without  telling  too  much.  * '  You  see,  I  was  quite  well 
acquainted  with  her. ' ' 

Kennedy  said  nothing,  but  I  could  feel  that  he  was 
longing  to  ask  questions  leading  up  to  whether  Faber 
had  been  the  mysterious  diner  in  the  Fleming  Studio 
the  night  before. 

"I  suppose  you  are  acquainted  with  Watteau's 
'Fete  du  Printemps'?"  shot  out  Craig,  after  a  few 
inconsequential  questions,  watching  Faber 's  face  fur- 
tively. 

"Indeed  I  am,"  replied  the  young  man,  apparently 
not  disconcerted  in  the  least. 

The  fact  was  that  he  seemed  quite  willing,  even 
eager  to  discuss  the  painting.  I  could  not  make  it 
out,  unless  it  might  be  that  any  subject  was  less  pain- 
ful than  the  sudden  death  of  Miss  Fleming. 

"Yes,"  he  continued  voluntarily,  "I  suppose  you 
know  it  represents  a  group  of  dancers.  The  central 
figure  of  the  group,  as  everyone  believes,  is  reputed 
to  be  the  passionate  and  jealous  Madame  de  Monte- 


THE  X-RAY  DETECTIVE  181 

span,  whom  the  beautiful  Madame  de  Maintenon  re- 
placed in  the  affections  of  Louis  XIV. 

"Why,  no  one  thinks  of  Watteau,  with  his  delight- 
ful daintiness  and  many  graceful  figures  on  such  mas- 
terfully disposed  backgrounds  as  a  portrait  painter. 
But  the  Fete  shows,  I  have  always  contended,  that  he 
drew  on  many  real  faces  for  his  characters.  Yes,  he 
could  paint  portraits,  too,  wonderfully  minute  and 
exact  little  miniatures." 

Faber  had  risen  as  he  discoursed.  "I  have  a  copy 
of  it, ' '  he  added,  leading  the  way  into  his  own  private 
gallery,  while  Craig  and  I  followed  him  without 
comment. 

"We  gazed  long  and  intently  at  the  face  of  the  cen- 
tral figure.  Small  though  it  was,  it  was  a  study  in 
itself,  a  puzzle,  distracting,  enigmatical.  There  was  a 
hard,  cruel  sensuousness  about  the  beautiful  mouth 
which  the  painter  seemed  to  have  captured  and  fixed 
beneath  the  very  oils.  Masked  cleverly  in  the  painted 
penetrating  dark  eyes  was  a  sort  of  cunning  which, 
combined  with  the  ravishing  curves  of  the  cheeks  and 
chin,  transfixed  the  observer. 

Something  in  the  face  reminded  me  of  a  face  I  had 
once  seen.  It  was  not  exactly  Rita's  face,  but  it  had 
a  certain  quality  that  recalled  it.  I  fancied  that  there 
was  in  both  the  living  and  the  painted  face  a  jealousy 
that  would  brook  no  rivalry,  that  would  dare  all  for 
the  object  of  its  love. 

Faber  saw  that  we  had  caught  the  spirit  of  the  por- 
trait, and  seemed  highly  gratified. 

' '  What  crimes  a  man  might  commit  under  the  spell 
of  a  woman  like  that ! ' '  exclaimed  Craig,  noticing  his 
gratification.  "By  the  way,  do  you  know  that  Miss 


182  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

Fleming  was  said  to  have  had  the  original — and  that 
it  is  gone?" 

Faber  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  us  without 
moving  a  muscle  of  his  face. 

"Why,  yes,"  he  replied  steadily.  I  could  not  make 
out  whether  he  had  expected  and  been  prepared  for 
the  question  or  not.  At  any  rate  he  added,  half 
serious,  half  smiling,  ' '  Even  for  her  portrait  someone 
was  ready  to  risk  even  life  and  honor  to  kidnap  her!" 

Evidently  in  his  ardor  he  personified  the  picture, 
felt  that  the  thief  must  have  been  moved  by  what  the 
psychologists  call  "an  imperative  idea"  for  the  mere 
possession  of  such  a  treasure. 

"Still,"  Craig  remarked  dryly,  "the  wanderings  of 
the  lost  Duchess  by  Gainesborough  for  a  quarter  of  a 
century  stuffed  into  a  tin  tube,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
final  sordid  ending  of  the  capture  of  Mona  Lisa,  might 
argue  a  devotion  among  art  thieves  a  bit  short  of  in- 
fatuation. I  think  we  '11  find  this  lady,  too,  to  be  held 
for  ransom,  not  for  love. ' ' 

Faber  said  nothing.  He  was  evidently  waiting  for 
Kennedy  to  proceed. 

"I  may  photograph  your  copy  of  the  Fete?" 
queried  Craig  finally,  "so  as  to  use  it  in  identifying 
the  real  one  ? ' ' 

"Surely,"  replied  the  collector.  "I  have  no  objec- 
tion. If  I  should  happen  to  be  out  when  you  came, 
I'll  leave  word  with  my  man  to  let  you  go  ahead." 

Just  then  the  telephone  rang  and  Faber  reached  for 
it  before  we  could  thank  him  and  say  good-night. 

"Hello — oh,  Miss  Tourville,  how  do  you  do?  Why 
— er — yes — yes,  I'm  listening." 

They  chatted  for  several  minutes,  Faber  answering 


THE  X-EAY  DETECTIVE  183 

mostly  in  monosyllables.  Perhaps  it  was  my  imagina- 
tion, but  I  thought  the  conversation,  at  least  at  his 
end  of  the  line,  constrained.  As  he  hung  up  the  re- 
ceiver, I  fancied,  too,  that  Faber  seemed  to  look  on  us 
with  a  sort  of  suspicion.  What  was  his  connection 
with  Rita,  I  wondered  ?  What  had  Rita  told  him  ? 

A  moment  later  we  had  said  good-by  and  had 
gained  the  street,  Kennedy  still  making  no  comment 
on  the  case. 

"There's  nothing  more  that  we  can  do  tonight," 
remarked  Craig,  looking  at  his  watch  finally  as  we 
walked  along.  "Let  us  go  over  to  the  City  Labora- 
tory  and  see  Dr.  Leslie,  as  I  promised  Blythe." 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  MECHANICAL  CONNOISSEUR 

DR.  LESLIE,  the  Coroner,  was  an  old  friend  of  ours 
with  whom  we  had  co-operated  in  several  cases.  When 
we  reached  his  office  we  found  Dr.  Blythe  there 
already,  waiting  for  us. 

"Have  you  found  anything  yet?"  asked  Dr.  Blythe 
with  what  I  felt  was  just  a  trace  of  professional 
pique  at  the  fact  that  neither  physician  had  been  able 
to  shed  any  light  on  the  case  so  far. 

"I  can't  say — yet,"  responded  Craig,  not  noticing 
Blythe 's  manner,  as  from  the  piece  of  tissue  paper 
in  which  he  had  wrapped  them  he  produced  the 
broken  bits  of  bottle. 

Carefully  he  washed  off  the  jagged  pieces,  as  though 
perhaps  some  of  the  liquid  the  bottle  had  contained 
might  have  adhered  to  the  glass. 

"I  suppose  you  have  animals  here  for  experiment?" 
he  asked  of  Leslie. 

The  Coroner  nodded. 

"Chickens?"  asked  Craig  with  a  broad  smile  at 
the  double  meaning. 

"A  Leghorn  rooster,"  returned  Dr.  Leslie  with  a 
laugh. 

"Good — bring  him  on,"  replied  Craig  briskly. 

Quickly  Kennedy  shot  a  small  quantity  of  the  liquid 
he  had  obtained  by  washing  the  bits  of  glass  into  the 

184 


THE  MECHANICAL  CONNOISSEUR     185 

veins  of  the  white  Leghorn.  Then  he  released  the 
rooster,  flapping  about. 

In  a  corner  chanticleer  stood,  preening  his  feathers 
and  restoring  his  ruffled  dignity,  while  we  compared 
opinions. 

"Look!"  exclaimed  Kennedy  a  few  minutes  later, 
when  we  had  almost  forgotten  the  rooster. 

His  bright  red  comb  was  now  whitish.  As  we 
watched,  a  moment  later  it  turned  dark  blue.  Other- 
wise, however,  he  seemed  unaffected. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked  in  amazement,  turning  to 
Craig. 

"Ergot,  I  think,"  he  replied  tersely.  "At  least 
that  is  one  test  for  its  presence. ' ' 

"Ergot!"  repeated  Dr.  Leslie,  reaching  for  a  book 
on  a  shelf  above  him.  Turning  the  pages  hurriedly, 
he  read,  "There  has  been  no  experience  in  the  sepa- 
ration of  the  constituents  of  ergot  from  the  organs  of 
the  body.  An  attempt  might  be  made  by  the  Dragen- 
dorff  process,  but  success  is  doubtful." 

"Dragendorff  found  it  so,  at  any  rate,"  put  in  Dr. 
Blythe  positively. 

Running  his  fingers  over  the  backs  of  the  other 
books,  Dr.  Leslie  selected  another.  "It  is  practically 
impossible,"  he  read,  "to  separate  ergot  from  the 
tissues  so  as  to  identify  it. ' ' 

"Absolutely,"  asserted  Dr.  Blythe  quickly. 

I  looked  from  one  physician  to  the  other.  Was  this 
the  ' '  safe ' '  poison  at  last  ? 

Kennedy  said  nothing  and  I  fell  to  wondering  why, 
too,  Dr.  Blythe  was  so  positive.  Was  it  merely  to 
vindicate  his  professional  pride  at  the  failure  he  and 
the  Coroner  had  had  so  far  with  the  case  ? 


186  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"I  suppose  you  have  no  objection  to  my  taking 
some  of  this  sample  of  the  contents  of  the  organs  of 
her  body,  have  you?"  asked  Craig  at  length  of  Dr. 
Leslie. 

"None  in  the  world,"  replied  the  Coroner. 

Kennedy  poured  out  some  of  the  liquid  into  a  bot- 
tle, corked  it  carefully,  and  we  stood  for  a  few  mo- 
ments longer  chatting  over  the  developments,  or 
rather  lack  of  developments  of  the  case. 

It  was  late  when  we  returned  to  our  apartment, 
but  the  following  morning  Kennedy  was  up  long  be- 
fore I  was.  I  knew  enough  of  him,  however,  to  know 
that  I  would  find  him  at  his  laboratory  breakfastless, 
and  my  deduction  was  correct. 

It  was  not  until  the  forenoon  that  Craig  had  com- 
pleted the  work  he  had  set  himself  to  do  as  he  puz- 
zled over  something  in  the  interminable  litter  of  tubes 
and  jars,  bottles  and  beakers,  reagents,  solutions,  and 
precipitates. 

"I'm  going  to  drop  in  at  Jacot's,"  he  announced 
finally,  laying  off  his  threadbare  and  acid-stained  coat 
and  pulling  on  the  clothes  more  fitted  for  civiliza- 
tion. 

Having  no  objection,  but  quite  the  contrary,  I 
hastened  to  accompany  him.  Jacot's  was  a  well-known 
shop.  It  opened  on  Fifth  Avenue,  just  a  few  feet 
below  the  sidewalk,  and  Jacot  himself  was  a  slim 
Frenchman,  well  preserved,  faultlessly  dressed. 

"I  am  the  agent  of  Mr.  Morehouse,  the  Western 
mine-owner  and  connoisseur,"  introduced  Kennedy, 
as  we  entered  the  shop.  ' '  May  I  look  around  ? ' ' 

"  Certainement, — avec  plaisir,  M'sieur,"  welcomed 
the  suave  dealer,  with  both  hands  interlocked.  "In 


THE  MECHANICAL  CONNOISSEUR      187 

what  is  Mr.  Morehouse  most  interested  ?  In  pictures  ? 
In  furniture  ?  In — ' ' 

"In  almost  anything  that  is  rare  and  beautiful," 
confided  Craig,  looking  Jacot  squarely  in  the  eye  and 
adding,  "and  not  particular  about  the  price  if  he 
wants  a  thing,  either.  But  I — I  am  particular — about 
one  thing." 

Jacot  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"A  rebate,"  Kennedy  went  on  insinuatingly,  "a 
commission  on  the  bill— you  understand?  The  price 
is  immaterial,  but  not  my — er — commission.  Com- 
prenez-vous  ? ' ' 

"Parfaitement,"  smiled  the  little  Frenchman.  "I 
can  arrange  all  that.  Trust  me." 

"We  spent  an  hour,  perhaps,  wandering  up  and 
down  the  long  aisles  of  the  store,  admiring,  half  pur- 
chasing, absorbing  facts  about  this,  that  and  the  other 
thing  that  might  captivate  the  fictitious  Mr.  More- 
house. 

Not  satisfied  with  what  was  displayed  so  tempt- 
ingly in  the  front  of  the  store,  Kennedy  wandered 
back  of  a  partition  apparently  in  search  of  some  more 
choice  treasures,  before  Jacot  could  stop  him.  He 
turned  over  a  painting  that  had  been  placed  with  its 
face  toward  the  wall,  as  if  for  protection.  I  recog- 
nized the  subject  with  a  start.  It  was  Watteau's 
Fete ! 

"Wonderful!"  exclaimed  Kennedy  in  well-feigned 
ecstasy,  just  as  Jacot  came  up. 

"Ah,  but,  M'sieur,"  interposed  the  art  dealer, 
"that  is  only  a  copy — and  not  for  sale." 

"I  believe  my  friend,  Mr.  Faber,  has  a  copy,"  ven- 
tured Craig. 


188  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"By  a  Miss  Fleming?"  asked  Jacot  quickly,  appar- 
ently all  interest  now. 

Kennedy  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Was  Jacot  hint- 
ing at  something  known  in  the  trade  ? 

"Might  I  photograph  some  of  the  things  here  to 
show  Mr.  Morehouse?"  asked  Craig  a  moment  later. 
"I  see  several  things  in  which  I  think  he  might  be 
interested. ' ' 

"Surely,"  answered  Jacot,  then,  after  considera- 
tion, in  which  his  beady  eye  seemed  to  size  up  Ken- 
nedy, he  added,  sotto  voce,  craftily,  "Would  Mr. 
Morehouse  be — er — interested  in  Watteau's  Fete?" 

My  heart  almost  stopped  beating.  Were  we  really 
on  the  right  track  at  last  ? 

Jacot  leaned  over  confidentially  to  Kennedy  and 
added,  "Why  not  sell  as  an  original,  not  this,  but  an- 
other copy — a — a — what  you  call  it  ? — a  fake  ? ' ' 

I  understood.  Kennedy,  having  invited  crooked 
dealing  by  his  remark  about  the  rake-off,  was  being 
approached  about  another  crooked  deal. 

"A  fake  Watteau?"  he  asked,  appearing  to  meet 
Jacot  halfway. 

Jacot  nodded.  ' '  Why  not  ?  You  know  the  same  Bot- 
ticelli belongs  to  collectors  in  Philadelphia  and  Bos- 
ton; that  is,  each  has  a  picture  and  if  one  is  genuine 
the  other  must  be  a  fake.  Possibly  the  artist  painted 
the  same  picture  twice.  Why,  M'sieur,  there  are 
Rubens,  Hals,  Van  Dycks,  Rembrandts  galore  in  this 
country  that  hang  also  at  the  same  time  abroad." 
Jacot  smiled.  "Did  you  never  hear  of  a  picture  with 
a  dual  personality?" 

Kennedy  seemed  to  consider  the  idea.  "I'll  think 
it  over,"  he  remarked  finally,  as  we  prepared  to  leave, 


THE  MECHANICAL  CONNOISSEUR     189 

"and  let  you  know  when  I  come  back  to  snap  some 
of  the  things  for  my  principal." 

"Well — of  all  brazen  crooks!"  I  sputtered  when  we 
had  gained  Fifth  Avenue. 

Kennedy  shook  his  head.  "We  can't  be  sure  of 
anything  in  this  game.  Does  it  occur  to  you  that  he 
might  perhaps  think  he  was  playing  us  for  suckers, 
after  all?" 

My  mind  worked  rapidly.  "And  that  that  picture 
of  Faber's  is  the  real  original,  after  all?"  I  asked. 
"You  mean  that  somehow  a  copy  by  Miss  Fleming 
has  come  really  to  Jacot  with  instructions  to  palm  it 
off  on  some  gullible  buyer  ? ' ' 

"Frankly,  Walter,"  he  said,  as  we  walked  along,  "I 
don 't  know  what  to  think.  You  know  even  the  great- 
est experts  sometimes  disagree  over  questions  like  this. 
Well,  Walter,  art  is  long  and  time  is  fleeting.  If  ,we 
are  ever  to  settle  where  that  real  Watteau  is,  we  shall 
have  to  resort  to  science,  I  think." 

That  afternoon  after  a  trip  up  to  the  laboratory, 
where  Craig  secured  a  peculiar  and  cumbersome  pho- 
tographic outfit,  we  at  last  found  ourselves  around  at 
Faber's  private  gallery.  Faber  was  out,  but,  true  to 
his  promise,  he  had  left  word  with  his  man,  who  ad- 
mitted us. 

Kennedy  set  to  work  immediately,  before  the  paint- 
ing, placing  an  instrument  which  certainly  was  not 
like  a  regular  camera.  I  was  further  astonished, 
moreover,  when  Craig  set  up  something  back  of  the 
canvas,  which  he  moved  away  from  the  wall.  As 
nearly  as  I  could  make  it  out  it  consisted  of  a  glass 
bulb  of  curious  shape.  A  moment  later  he  attached 
the  bulb  to  a  wire  that  connected  with  a  little  rheostat 


190  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

or  resistance  coil  and  thence,  in  turn,  to  an  electric- 
light  socket. 

He  switched  on  the  electric  current  and  the  appa- 
ratus behind  the  picture  began  to  sputter.  I  could 
not  see  very  well  what  it  was,  but  it  looked  as  if  the 
bulb  was  suffused  with  a  peculiar,  yellowish-green 
light,  divided  into  two  hemispheres  of  different  shades. 
The  pungent  odor  of  ozone  from  the  electric  discharge 
filled  the  room. 

While  Kennedy  was  working,  I  had  noticed  a  little 
leather  party  box  lying  on  a  table,  as  though  it  had 
been  forgotten.  It  was  not  just  the  thing  one  would 
expect  in  Faber's  rooms  and  I  looked  at  it  more 
closely.  On  it  were  the  initials  "R.  T."  Had  Rita 
Tourville  visited  him? 

Craig  had  scarcely  finished  and  was  packing  up  his 
apparatus  when  we  heard  a  noise  outside.  A  second 
later,  Faber  himself  entered,  with  Rita,  evidently 
looking  for  something. 

"Oh,  yes,  Rita, — here  it  is.  Why,  Kennedy — how 
are  you?  Did  you  get  your  photograph?" 

Kennedy  replied  that  he  had,  and  thanked  him. 

It  was  easy  to  see  Rita's  pleasure  at  being  with  the 
young  connoisseur,  but  at  the  sight  of  Craig  I  fancied 
for  a  moment  that  I  saw  a  flash  of  that  passionate 
resentment  which  had  caused  me  to  find  a  resemblance 
between  the  expression  of  her  face  and  that  of  De 
Montespan  in  the  painting,  a  hint  at  what  she  would 
do  or  dare  to  protect  the  object  of  her  affections. 

We  departed  shortly,  leaving  Rita  and  Faber  deep 
in  the  discussion  of  some  art  topic. 

It  was  not  until  late  in  the  afternoon  that  we  were 
able  to  revisit  Jacot's.  He  received  us  cordially,  but 


THE  MECHANICAL  CONNOISSEUR     191 

Craig,  by  a  whispered  word  or  two,  was  able  to  post- 
pone the  answer  to  the  clever  proposal  which  might 
have  been  a  trap  prepared  for  us. 

Craig,  with  a  regular  camera  which  he  had  brought 
also,  set  to  work  snapping  pictures  and  objects  of  art 
with  reckless  profusion,  moving  them  about  to  get  a 
better  light  and  otherwise  consuming  time. 

At  last  came  the  opportunity  he  had  been  awaiting, 
when  Jacot  had  a  customer  in  the  front  of  the  store. 
Quickly  he  set  up  the  peculiar  apparatus  which  he 
had  used  at  Faber's  before  the  copy  of  the  Watteau 
in  the  rear  of  the  shop,  switched  on  the  electricity,  and 
amid  the  suppressed  sputtering  duplicated  the  work 
I  had  seen  him  do  before. 

As  he  was  packing  the  apparatus  up,  I  happened 
to  glance  toward  the  front  of  the  store.  There  were 
Leila  and  Jacot  in  earnest  conversation.  I  whispered 
to  Kennedy,  and,  a  moment  later,  she  caught  sight  of 
me,  appeared  not  to  recognize  me,  and  left. 

Jacot  sauntered  back  to  us,  I  thought,  concealing 
his  haste. 

Before  he  could  speak,  Kennedy  asked,  "Who  was 
that  woman  ? ' ' 

He  had  finished  packing  up  the  apparatus  and  even 
if  Jacot  had  heard  something  that  caused  him  to 
change  his  mind,  it  was  now  too  late  to  stop  Ken- 
nedy. 

"Why,"  hastened  Jacot,  apparently  frank,  "that 
is  the  maid  of  the  Miss  Fleming,  the  artist  who  has 
just  died.  She  has  come  to  me  to  see  whether  I  can 
get  her  a  position  with  another  artist. ' ' 

"I  thought  I  recognized  her,"  remarked  Kennedy. 
"I  remember  when  I  saw  her  once  before  that  she  had 


192  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

on  a  wedding  ring.  Doesn't  her  husband  support 
her?" 

Jacot  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "She  is  looking  for 
another  position — that  is  all  I  know, ' '  he  said  simply. 

Kennedy  picked  up  his  apparatus. 

"You  will  think  over  my  proposition?"  asked 
Jacot,  as  we  left. 

"And  let  you  know  in  a  day  or  two,"  nodded  Ken- 
nedy. 

As  we  walked  up  Fifth  Avenue,  I  confess  to  have 
felt  all  at  sea.  Who  had  the  real  masterpiece?  Was 
it  Faber,  or  Jacot,  or  was  it  someone  else?  If  Rita 
had  warned  Faber  against  us,  and  Leila  had  warned 
Jacot,  which  had  copy  and  which  original  ?  Or  were 
they  both  copies  and  had  the  original  been  hidden? 
Had  it  been  stolen  for  money  or  had  some  fiend  with 
a  knowledge  of  this  mysterious  ergot  stolen  it  simply 
for  love  of  art,  stopping  not  even  at  murder  to  get  it  ? 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  RADIOGRAPH  WITNESS 

IT  was  apparent  that  quick  action  was  necessary  if 
the  mystery  was  ever  to  be  solved.  Kennedy  evi- 
dently thought  so,  too,  for  he  did  not  wait  even  until 
he  returned  to  his  laboratory  to  set  in  motion,  through 
our  old  friend,  Commissioner  O'Connor,  the  machin- 
ery that  would  result  in  warrants  to  compel  the  at- 
tendance at  the  laboratory  of  all  those  interested  in 
the  case.  Then  he  called  up  Dr.  Leslie  and  finally 
Dr.  Blythe  himself. 

Back  again  in  the  laboratory,  Kennedy  employed 
the  time  in  developing  some  plates  of  the  pictures  he 
had  taken,  and  by  early  evening,  after  a  brief  study  of 
them,  his  manner  indicated  that  he  was  ready. 

Dr.  Leslie,  whom  he  had  asked  to  come  a  little  be- 
fore the  rest,  arrived  early,  and  a  few  moments  later 
Dr.  Blythe,  very  much  excited  by  the  message  he  had 
received. 

"Have  you  found  anything?"  he  asked  eagerly. 
"I've  been  trying  all  sorts  of  tests  myself,  and  I  can't 
prove  the  presence  of  a  thing — not  a  thing." 

"Not  ergot?"  asked  Kennedy  quietly. 

"No,"  he  cried,  "you  can't  prove  anything — you 
can't  prove  that  she  was  poisoned  by  ergot." 

Dr.  Leslie  looked  helplessly  at  Kennedy,  but  said 
nothing. 

"Not  until  recently,  perhaps,  could  I  have  proved 
193 


194  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

anything,"  returned  Kennedy  calmly.  "Evidently 
you  didn't  know,  Dr.  Blythe,  that  the  first  successful 
isolation  of  an  alkaloid  of  ergot  from  the  organs  in 
a  case  of  acute  ergotism  had  been  made  by  two  Pitts- 
burgh scientists.  True,  up  to  the  present  toxicolo- 
gists  had  to  rely  on  the  physical  properties  of  this 
fungus  of  rye  for  its  identification.  That  may  have 
made  it  seem  like  a  safe  poison  to  someone.  But  I 
have  succeeded  in  isolating  ergotinin  from  the  sample 
of  the  contents  of  the  organs  of  the  poor  girl." 

Without  pausing,  he  picked  up  a  beaker.  ' '  Here  I 
have  the  residue  left  from  an  acid  solution  of  an 
extract  of  the  organs,  treated  with  chloroform.  It  is, 
as  you  see,  crystalline. ' ' 

In  his  other  hand  he  held  up  another  beaker. 
"Next  I  got  the  residue  obtained  by  extraction  of  the 
acid  aqueous  liquid  with  ether.  That,  too,  is  crystal- 
line." 

Kennedy  displayed  something  in  the  shape  of  long 
needles,  the  sides  of  which  were  not  quite  parallel  and 
the  ends  replaced  by  a  pair  of  faces. 

Quickly  he  dissolved  some  of  the  crystals  in  sul- 
phuric acid.  Then  he  added  another  chemical  from 
a  bottle  labeled  ferro  chlorid.  The  liquid,  as  we  bent 
over  it,  changed  quickly  to  a  brilliant  orange,  then  a 
crimson,  next  a  green,  and  finally  became  a  deep  blue. 

"What  he  has  derived  from  the  body  responds  to 
all  the  chemical  tests  for  ergotinin  itself,"  remarked 
Dr.  Leslie,  looking  quickly  across  at  Dr.  Blythe. 

Dr.  Blythe  said  nothing. 

I  smelt  of  the  stuff.  Odors  with  me,  as,  I  suppose, 
with  other  people,  have  a  psychological  effect,  calling 
up  scenes  associated  with  them.  This  odor  recalled 


THE  RADIOGRAPH  WITNESS          195 

something.  I  strove  to  recollect  what  it  was.  At  last 
it  came  with  a  rush. 

' '  The  meat  sauce ! "  I  exclaimed  involuntarily. 

"Exactly,"  replied  Kennedy.  "I  have  obtained 
that  bottle.  There  was  ergot  in  it,  cleverly  concealed 
by  the  natural  smell  and  taste  of  the  sauce.  But  who 
put  it  there?  Who  had  the  knowledge  that  would 
suggest  using  such  a  poison?  Who  had  the  motive? 
Who  had  been  dining  with  her  that  fatal  evening?" 

Kennedy  had  no  chance  to  answer  his  questions, 
even  if  he  had  intended  to  do  so. 

The  door  of  the  laboratory  opened  and  Rita  Tour- 
ville,  in  charge  of  one  of  O'Connor's  men,  who  looked 
as  if  he  might  have  enjoyed  it  better  if  the  lady  had 
not  been  so  angry,  entered.  Evidently  0  'Connor  had 
timed  the  arrival  closely  to  what  Craig  had  asked,  for 
scarcely  a  moment  later  Faber  came  whirling  up  in 
one  of  his  own  cars.  Not  a  word  passed  between  him 
and  Rita,  yet  I  felt  sure  that  they  had  some  under- 
standing of  each  other.  Leila  arrived  shortly,  and  it 
was  noticeable  that  Rita  avoided  her,  though  for  what 
reason  I  could  not  guess.  Finally  came  Jacot,  blus- 
tering, but,  having  made  the  officer  the  safety-valve  of 
his  mercurial  feelings,  quickly  subsiding  before  us. 
Dr.  Blythe  appeared  amazed  at  the  quickness  with 
which  Kennedy  moved  now. 

' '  In  ordinary  times, ' '  began  Kennedy,  noting  as  he 
spoke  the  outward  attitude  of  our  guests  toward  each 
other,  "the  world  would  have  stood  aghast  at  the  dis- 
appearance of  such  a  masterpiece  as  the  Fete  by  Wat- 
teau.  It  would  have  ranked  with  the  theft  of  Games- 
borough's  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  Da  Vinci's  Mona 
Lisa,  the  brown-skinned  Madonna  of  the  Mexican 


196  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

convent,  Millet's  Goose-girl,  and  the  Shepherd  and 
Flock,  the  portrait  of  Saskia  by  Rembrandt,  and  other 
stolen  masterpieces. 

"But  today  the  vicissitudes  of  works  of  art  in  war 
time  pass  almost  unnoticed.  Still  there  is  a  fascina- 
tion exercised  over  the  human  mind  by  works  of  art 
and  other  objects  of  historic  interest,  the  more  so  be- 
cause the  taking  of  art  treasures  seems  to  have  become 
epidemic  in  northern  Europe. ' ' 

He  laid  down  what  looked  more  like  two  rough 
sketches  than  photographs,  yet  they  were  photo- 
graphs, though  the  relative  brightness  of  color  in 
photographs  was  quite  different.  Outlines  were  dis- 
placed, also.  Ugly  spots  and  bands  marred  the  gen- 
eral effect.  They  were  peculiar. 

"They  are  X-ray  images  or  radiographs  of  two  oil 
paintings,  both  claimed  to  be  copies  of  Watteau's 
famous  Fete,"  explained  Kennedy,  picking  up  one  of 
them. 

"In  a  radiograph  of  the  body,"  he  continued,  "the 
difference  of  brightness  that  distinguishes  the  heart 
from  the  lungs,  bones  from  flesh,  is  due  to  the  differ- 
ent densities  of  tissues.  In  these  pictures  the  same 
effect  is  produced  by  the  different  densities  of  the 
pigments,  especially  of  their  principal  and  heaviest 
elements. ' ' 

He  paused  and  laid  down  a  chart.  "For  anyone 
who  doubts  what  I  am  about  to  prove,  I  have  made  a 
scale  of  oil  colors  arranged  in  accordance  to  their 
transparency  to  Roentgen  rays  by  applying  standard 
pigments  to  canvas  in  patches  of  equal  thickness. 

"I  think  you  can  see  what  I  am  driving  at.  For 
instance,  a  design  drawn  in  a  heavy  pigment  will 


THE  RADIOGRAPH  WITNESS          197 

show  through  a  layer  of  a  less  dense  pigment,  under 
the  influence  of  the  X-ray — just  as  bones  show 
through  flesh.  In  other  words,  an  ordinary  photo- 
graph reproduces  only  the  surface  of  a  painting.  A 
radiograph  represents  all  the  pigments  underneath, 
also  producing  effects  in  proportion  to  their  densities. 

"Let  me  show  you  the  practical  result  of  all  this  in 
studying  such  radiographs,  as  worked  out  by  a  Ger- 
man student.  I  have  made  several  very  interesting 
and  conclusive  discoveries  which  these  radiographs  I 
have  taken  illustrate." 

He  paused  a  moment,  for  the  sake  of  emphasis. 
"You  will  notice,"  he  resumed  carefully,  "the  lace 
frill  above  the  bodice  on  the  figure  of  Madame  de 
Montespan,  in  this  radiograph.  In  the  painting  the 
frill  is  sharply  defined  and  can  be  clearly  distin- 
guished from  the  bodice.  But  look  at  this  radiograph. 
It  appears  tattered.  It  overflows  the  bodice. 

"That  led  me  to  suspect  that  the  bodice  was 
widened  as  an  afterthought — perhaps  to  diminish  the 
area  of  white.  That  is  the  reason  why  the  white 
shows  through  the  bodice  in  the  radiograph.  But  in 
this  other  one  the  bodice  and  the  frill  are  substan- 
tially as  they  must  be  in  the  original. ' ' 

Again  he  paused,  as  if  taking  up  a  new  point. 
"This  radiograph, — number  one,  I  may  call  it — 
shows  a  broad  light  band  on  the  right  hand  of  the 
figure,  of  which  not  a  trace  is  to  be  found  either  in 
the  other  radiograph  or  the  painting  itself.  It  repre- 
sents the  first  rough  sketch  of  an  arm  and  hand. 

"Again,  in  this  first  radiograph  the  ring  and  little 
fingers  are  close  together  and  a  sixth  finger  appears 
between  the  index  and  middle  fingers.  From  that  I 


198  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

infer  that  the  hand  hung  limp  with  the  fingers  nearly 
in  contact  in  the  first  sketch  and  that  the  fingers  were 
afterward  separated.  But  in  this  second  radiograph 
the  arm,  hand  and  fingers  are  perfect. " 

It  was  fascinating  to  listen  to  Kennedy  as  he  delved 
down  into  the  invisible  beneath  the  very  oils  and  dug 
out  their  hidden  mystery. 

"Take  the  head  and  shoulder,"  he  continued. 
"Radiograph  number  one  clearly  shows  flaking  of  the 
painting  which  has  been  painted  over  to  conceal  it. 
Ordinary  light  reveals  no  trace,  either,  of  a  long 
crack  on  the  shoulder  which  evidently  was  filled  with 
a  thick  mass  of  pigment  containing  too  little  white 
lead  to  obliterate  the  crack  in  the  radiograph.  White 
spots  above  the  ear,  in  the  radiograph,  probably  indi- 
cate an  excess  of  white  lead  used  in  retouching.  At 
any  rate,  radiograph  number  two  contains  no  such 
defects." 

Kennedy  paused  before  drawing  the  conclusion. 
"The  radiograph  of  an  original  picture  reveals 
changes  made  by  the  artist  in  the  course  of  his  work. 
The  counterfeiter,  like  other  copyists,  reproduces  as 
accurately  as  possible  the  final  result.  That  is  all  he 
can  see.  He  makes  errors  and  corrections,  but  of  a 
different  kind.  There  are  no  serious  changes. 

"So,  a  radiograph  of  even  a  part  of  a  picture 
shows  the  layers  of  pigment  that  are  hidden  from  the 
eye  and  the  changes  made  during  the  composition  of 
the  work.  One  can  easily  distinguish  the  genuine 
from  the  spurious  copies,  for  it  is  absolutely  impossi- 
ble for  an  imitator  to  make  a  copy  that  will  stand  the 
X-ray  test. 

"You  see,"  he  went  on  enthusiastically,  "the  most 


THE  RADIOGRAPH  WITNESS          199 

striking  feature  of  these  radiographs  is  their  revela- 
tion of  details  of  the  first  sketch,  which  have  been 
altered  in  the  finished  picture.  We  actually  obtain 
an  insight  into  the  methods  of  an  artist — "  he  paused, 
adding — "who  has  been  dead  for  centuries." 

It  was  wonderful  what  Kennedy  was  getting  out  of 
those,  to  us,  blurred  and  indistinct  skiagraphs.  I 
studied  the  faces  before  me.  None  seemed  to  indicate 
any  disposition  to  break  down.  Kennedy  saw  it,  too, 
and  evidently  determined  to  go  to  the  bitter  end  in 
hammering  out  the  truth  of  the  mystery. 

"One  moment  more,  please,"  he  resumed.  "The 
radiograph  shows  even  more  than  that.  It  shows 
the  possibility  of  detecting  a  signature  that  has  been 
painted  over,  in  order  to  disarm  suspicion.  The  de- 
tection is  easier  in  proportion  to  the  density  of  the 
pigment  used  for  the  signature  and  the  lack  of 
density  of  the  superposed  coat." 

He  had  laid  the  radiographs  on  the  table  before 
him,  with  a  finger  on  the  corner  of  each,  as  he 
faced  us. 

"At  the  bottom  of  each  of  the  paintings  in  ques- 
tion," he  shot  out,  leaning  forward,  "you  will  find 
nothing  in  the  way  of  a  signature.  But  here,  in 
radiograph  number  two,  for  instance,  barely  dis- 
cernible, are  the  words,  "R.  Fleming,"  quite  invis- 
ible to  the  eye,  but  visible  to  the  X-ray.  These 
words  have  been  painted  over.  Why?  Was  it  to 
prevent  anyone  from  thinking  that  the  owner  had 
ever  had  any  connection  with  Rhoda  Fleming?" 

I  was  following  Kennedy,  but  not  so  closely  that  I 
missed  a  fearful  glance  of  Rita  from  Faber  to  Jacot. 
What  it  meant,  I  did  not  know.  The  others  were  too 


200  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

intent  on  Kennedy's  exposure  to  notice.  I  wondered 
whether  someone  had  sought  to  conceal  the  fact  that 
he  had  a  copy  of  the  famous  "Watteau,  made  by  Miss 
Fleming  ? 

"Look  at  the  bottom  of  the  other  radiograph,  num- 
ber one,  further  toward  the  left,"  pursued  Kennedy 
resistlessly.  "There  you  will  discover  traces  of  an 
'A'  and  a  *W,'  which  do  not  appear  on  the  painting. 
Between  these  two  are  marks  which  can  also  be 
deciphered  by  the  X-ray — 'Antoine  Watteau.'  Per- 
haps it  was  painted  over  lightly  so  that  an  original 
could  be  smuggled  in  as  a  copy.  More  likely  it  was 
done  so  that  a  thief  and  murderer  could  not  be 
traced." 

As  Kennedy's  voice  rang  out,  more  and  more  ac- 
cusatory, Rita  Tourville  became  more  and  more  un- 
controllably nervous. 

"It  was  suggested,"  modulated  Kennedy,  playing 
with  his  little  audience  as  a  cat  might  with  a  mouse, 
"that  someone  murdered  Rhoda  Fleming  with  the 
little-understood  poison,  ergot,  because  of  an  infatu- 
ation for  the  picture  itself.  But  the  modern  crook 
has  an  eye  for  pictures,  just  as  for  other  valuables. 
The  spread  of  the  taste  for  art  has  taught  these  fel- 
lows that  such  things  as  old  masters  are  worth  money, 
and  they  will  even  murder  now  to  get  them.  No, 
that  radiograph  which  I  have  labeled  number  one  is 
not  a  copy.  It  is  of  the  genuine  old  master — the  real 
Watteau. 

"Someone,  closely  associated  with  Miss  Fleming, 
had  found  out  that  she  had  the  original.  That  per- 
son, in  order  to  get  it,  went  even  so  far  as  to — " 

Rita  Tourville  jumped  up,  wildly,   facing  Craig 


THE  RADIOGRAPH  WITNESS          201 

and  crying  out,  "No,  no — his  is  the  copy — the  copy 
by  Miss  Fleming.  It  was  I  who  told  him  to  paint 
over  the  signature.  It  was  I  who  called  him  away — 
both  nights — on  a  pretext — when  he  was  dining  with 
her — alone — called  him  because — I — I  loved  him  and 
I  knew—" 

Faber  was  on  his  feet  beside  her  in  a  moment,  his 
face  plainly  showing  his  feelings  toward  her.  As  he 
laid  his  hand  on  her  arm  to  restrain  her,  she  turned' 
and  caught  a  penetrating  glance  from  Jacot's  hyp- 
notic eye. 

Slowly  she  collapsed  into  her  chair,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands,  sobbing.  For  a  moment  a  look 
of  intense  scorn  and  hatred  blazed  in  Leila's  face, 
then  was  checked. 

Craig  waved  the  radiograph  of  the  real  Watteau 
as  he  emphasized  his  last  words. 

"In  spite  of  Rita  Tourville's  unexpected  love  for 
Faber,  winning  him  from  your  victim,  and  with  the 
aid  of  your  wife,  Leila,  in  the  role  of  maid,  the  third 
member  of  your  unique  gang  of  art  thieves,  you  are 
convicted  infallibly  by  my  X-ray  detective,"  thun- 
dered Craig  as  he  pointed  his  finger  at  the  now  cow- 
ering Jacot. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE   ABSOLUTE    ZERO 

"ISN'T  there  some  way  you  can  save  him,  Profes- 
sor Kennedy?  You  must  come  out  to  Briar  Lake." 

When  a  handsome  woman  like  Mrs.  Fraser  Ferris 
pleads,  she  is  irresistible.  Not  only  that,  but  the 
story  which  she  had  not  trusted  either  to  a  message 
or  a  messenger  was  deeply  interesting,  for,  already, 
it  had  set  agog  the  fashionable  country  house  colony. 

Mrs.  Ferris  had  come  to  us  not  as  the  social  leader 
now,  but  as  a  mother.  Only  the  night  before  her  son, 
young  Fraser,  had  been  arrested  by  the  local  authori- 
ties at  Briar  Lake  on  the  charge  of  homicide.  I  had 
read  the  meager  dispatch  in  the  morning  papers  and 
had  wondered  what  the  whole  story  might  be. 

"You  see,  Professor  Kennedy,"  she  began  in  an 
agitated  voice  as  soon  as  she  arrived  at  the  laboratory 
and  introduced  herself  to  us,  "day  before  yesterday, 
Fraser  was  boxing  at  the  Country  Club  with  another 
young  man,  Irving  Evans. ' ' 

Kennedy  nodded.  Both  of  them  were  well  known. 
Ferris  had  been  the  All- America  tackle  on  the  Uni- 
versity football  team  a  couple  of  years  previous  and 
Evans  was  a  crack  pitcher  several  years  before. 

"Irving,"  she  continued,  adding,  "of  course  I  call 
him  Irving,  for  his  mother  and  I  were  schoolgirls 
together — Irving,  I  believe,  fell  unconscious  during 
the  bout.  I'm  telling  you  just  what  Fraser  told  me. 

202 


THE  ABSOLUTE  ZERO  203 

' '  The  other  men  in  the  Club  gymnasium  at  the  time 
carried  him  into  the  locker-room  and  there  they  all 
did  what  they  could  to  revive  him.  They  succeeded 
finally,  but  when  he  regained  consciousness  he  com- 
plained of  a  burning  sensation  in  his  stomach,  or, 
rather,  as  Fraser  says,  just  below  the  point  where  his 
ribs  come  together.  They  say,  too,  that  there  was  a 
red  spot  on  his  skin,  about  the  size  of  a  half-dollar. 

"Finally,"  she  continued  with  a  sigh,  "the  other 
men  took  Irving  home — but  he  lapsed  into  a  half- 
comatose  condition.  He  never  got  better.  He — he 
died  the  next  day — yesterday." 

It  was  evidently  a  great  effort  for  Mrs.  Ferris  to 
talk  of  the  affair  which  had  involved  her  son,  but  she 
had  made  up  her  mind  to  face  the  necessity  and  was 
going  through  it  bravely. 

"Of  course,"  she  resumed  a  moment  later,  "the 
death  of  Irving  Evans  caused  a  great  deal  of  talking. 
It  was  natural  in  a  community  like  Briar  Lake.  But 
I  don't  think  anything  would  have  been  thought 
about  it,  out  of  the  way,  if  the  afternoon  after  his 
death — yesterday — the  body  of  one  of  the  Club's  stew- 
ards, Benson,  had  not  been  found  jammed  into  a 
trunk.  Apparently,  it  had  been  dumped  off  an  auto- 
mobile in  one  of  the  most  lonely  sections  of  the 
country. 

"In  fact,"  she  went  on,  "it  was  the  sort  of  thing 
that  might  have  taken  place,  one  would  say,  in  the 
dark  alleys  of  a  big  city.  But  in  a  country  resort  like 
Briar  Lake,  the  very  uncommonness  of  such  a  case 
called  added  attention  to  it." 

"I  understand,"  agreed  Craig,  "but  why  did  they 
suspect  your  son  ? ' ' 


204  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

''That's  the  ridiculous  part  of  it,  at  least  to  me," 
hastened  the  mother  to  her  son's  defense.  "Both 
Irving  and  my  son,  as  you  know,  were  former  Uni- 
versity athletic  stars,  and,  as  in  all  country  clubs,  I 
suppose,  that  meant  popularity.  Irving  was  engaged 
to  Anita  Allison.  Anita  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
and  popular  girls  in  the  younger  set,  a  splendid 
golfer,  charming  and  clever,  the  life  of  the  Club  at 
the  dances  and  teas." 

Mrs.  Ferris  paused  as  though  she  would  convey  to 
us  just  the  social  status  of  everyone  concerned. 

"Of  course,"  she  threw  in  parenthetically,  "you 
know  the  Allisons  are  reputed  to  be  quite  well  off. 
When  old  Mr.  Allison  died,  Anita's  brother,  Dean, 
several  years  older  than  herself,  inherited  the  broker- 
age business  of  his  father  and,  according  to  the  will, 
assumed  the  guardianship  of  his  younger  sister. ' ' 

She  seemed  to  be  considering  something,  then  sud- 
denly to  make  up  her  mind  to  tell  it.  "I  suppose 
everyone  knows  it,"  she  resumed,  "and  you  ought  to 
know  it,  too.  Fraser  was — er — one  of  Anita's  unsuc- 
cessful suitors.  In  fact,  Anita  had  been  sought  by 
nearly  all  of  the  most  eligible  young  fellows  of  the 
Club.  I  don't  think  there  were  many  who  had  not  at 
some  time  or  other  offered  her  his  whole  heart  as  well 
as  his  fortune. 

"I  didn't  encourage  Fraser — or  try  to  discourage 
him.  But  I  could  see  that  it  lay  between  Fraser  and 
Irving. ' ' 

"And  the  rather  strange  circumstances  of  the 
death  of  Evans,  as  well  as  of  the  steward,  occasioned 
a  good  deal  of  gossip,  I  suppose,"  chimed  in  Ken- 
nedy. 


THE  ABSOLUTE  ZERO  205 

"Yes.  Somehow,  people  began  to  whisper  that  it 
was  revenge  or  hate  or  jealousy  that  had  prompted 
the  blow, — that  perhaps  the  steward,  Benson,  who 
was  very  popular  with  the  young  men,  knew  or  had 
seen  something  that  made  him  dangerous. 

"Anyhow,  gossip  grew  until  it  seemed  that,  in 
some  way  which  no  one  has  ever  said  definitely,  a 
deliberate  attempt  was  made  on  Irving  Evans's  life, 
and  finally  the  local  authorities,  rather  glad  to  take 
up  a  scandal  in  the  Club  set,  took  action  and  arrested 
my  Fraser — under  a  charge  of  homicide." 

She  blurted  the  words  out  fiercely  and  defiantlyy 
but  it  was  all  assumed.  Underneath,  one  could  see 
the  woman  fighting  loyally  with  every  weapon  for  her 
son,  keenly  alive  to  the  disgrace  that  even  the  breath 
of  scandal  unrefuted  might  bring  to  his  name. 

"How  about  the  other  admirers?"  asked  Craig 
quickly. 

"That's  another  queer  thing,"  she  replied  eagerly. 
"You  see,  they  have  all  suddenly  become  very  busy 
and  have  made  perfect  alibis.  But  there  was  Allan 
Wyndham — he's  a  friend  of  the  Allisons, — why 
shouldn  't  they  suspect  him  ?  In  fact,  there  was  quite 
a  group  of  young  fellows  closely  associated  with  Dean 
Allison  in  speculation.  Irving  Evans  was  one.  But, ' ' 
she  added,  with  a  glance  at  Kennedy  as  if  she  realized 
that  it  was  like  catching  at  a  straw,  "with  Fraser,  of 
course, — there  is  that  blow.  We  can't  deny  that." 

"What  does  Miss  Allison  think?"  queried  Craig. 

' '  Oh,  I  believe  Anita  is  all  broken  up  by  the  tragedy 
to  her  fiance.  She  was  at  the  Club  at  the  time — in 
the  tea  room.  No  one  dared  to  tell  her  until  Irving 
had  been  taken  home.  Then  her  brother,  who  was  in 


206  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

the  gymnasium  when  the  thing  happened  and  had 
been  one  of  those  to  carry  Irving  into  the  locker-room, 
was  naturally  chosen  by  the  rest,  after  they  had  done 
all  they  could  to  revive  Irving,  to  break  the  news  as 
gently  as  he  could  to  his  sister.  She  took  it  calmly. 
But  I  think  it  would  have  been  better  if  she  had 
given  way  to  her  real  feelings.  They  say  she  has 
secluded  herself  in  the  Allison  house  and  won't  see  a 
soul." 

Kennedy's  brow  puckered  in  thought. 

"You  can't  imagine  what  a  terrible  shock  this 
thing  has  been  to  me,"  pleaded  Mrs.  Ferris.  "Oh, 
the  horror  of  it  all!  You  must  come  out  to  Briar 
Lake  with  me ! " 

There  was,  naturally,  no  doubt  of  the  poignancy  of 
her  feelings  as  she  looked  from  Kennedy  to  myself, 
imploringly.  As  for  Craig,  he  did  not  need  to  betray 
the  sympathy  he  felt  not  only  for  the  young  man 
who  had  been  arrested  and  his  mother,  but  for  the 
poor  girl  whose  life  might  be  blasted  by  the  tragedy 
and  the  unhappy  victim  who  had  been  snatched  away 
so  suddenly  almost  on  the  very  eve  of  happiness. 

It  was  not  half  an  hour  later,  that,  with  a  very 
grateful  mother,  we  were  on  our  way  out  to  Briar 
Lake  in  Mrs.  Ferris 's  touring  car. 

As  we  whirled  along  past  the  city  limits,  Kennedy 
leaned  back  on  the  cushions  and  for  some  minutes 
seemed  absorbed  in  thought. 

"Of  course  it  is  possible,"  he  remarked  at  length, 
noticing  that  both  Mrs.  Ferris  and  I  were  watching 
him  nervously,  "that  Miss  Allison  may  know  some- 
thing that  will  throw  some  light  on  the  affair.  But  it 
may  be  of  an  entirely  private  nature.  I  don't  know 


THE  ABSOLUTE  ZERO  207 

how  we'll  get  her  to  talk,  but  we  must — if  she  knows 
anything.  I'd  like  to  stop  at  the  Allison  house, 
first." 

"Very  well,"  agreed  Mrs.  Ferris,  leaning  forward 
and  directing  the  chauffeur  to  turn  off  before  we 
reached  Briar  Lake  on  the  main  road. 

We  sped  along  and  I  could  not  help  feeling  that 
the  young  man  who  was  driving  the  car  was  quite  as 
eager  as  anyone  else  to  bring  help  to  his  young 
master. 

The  Allison  house  proved  to  be  a  roomy,  old-fash- 
ioned place  on  a  rise  of  ground  just  this  side  of  Briar 
Lake,  for  the  Allisons  had  been  among  the  first  to 
acquire  estates  at  the  exclusive  colony. 

Mrs.  Ferris  remained  in  the  car,  while  Kennedy  and 
I  went  in  to  introduce  ourselves. 

"We  found  the  young  society  girl  evidently  now  in 
full  possession  of  her  nerves.  She  was  slender,  fair, 
with  deep  blue  eyes,  not  merely  pretty,  but  with  a 
face  that  showed  character. 

Anita  Allison  had  been  seated  in  the  library,  and, 
as  we  entered,  I  could  see  that  she  had  hastily 
shoved  some  papers,  at  which  she  had  been  looking, 
into  a  drawer  of  the  desk. 

"Miss  Allison,"  began  Kennedy,  "this  is  a  most 
unfortunate  affair  and  I  must  beg  your  pardon — " 

"Yes,"  she  interrupted,  "I  understand.  As  if  I 
didn't  feel  badly  enough — oh — they  have  to  make  it 
all  so  much  harder  to  bear  by  arresting  Fraser — and 
then  all  this  notoriety, — it  is  awful." 

I  confess  that  I  had  not  expected  that  we  would  see 
her  so  easily.  Yet  I  felt  that  there  was  some  con- 
straint in  her  manner,  in  spite  of  that. 


208  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

' '  I  want  to  speak  frankly  with  you,  Miss  Allison, ' ' 
went  on  Craig  gently.  "Is  there  anything  about  the 
matter — of  a  personal  nature — that  you  haven't  told? 
I  want  to  appeal  to  you.  Eemember,  there  is  another 
life  at  stake,  now." 

She  looked  at  us  searchingly.  Did  she  suspect  that 
we  knew  something  or  was  she  herself  seeking  infor- 
mation ? 

"No,  no,"  she  cried.  "There  isn't  a  thing — not  a 
thing  that  I  know  that  I  haven't  told — nothing." 

Kennedy  said  nothing  himself,  but  watched  her, 
apparently  assuming  that  she  would  go  on. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "if  I  could  only  do  something — 
anything.  It  might  get  my  mind  off  it  all.  But  I — I 
can't  even  cry!" 

Plainly  there  was  little  except  a  sort  of  mental 
vivisection  of  her  grief  to  be  gained  from  her  yet — 
even  if  she  suspected  something,  of  which  I  was  not 
entirely  sure. 

We  excused  ourselves  and  left  her,  sunk  deeply  into 
a  leather  chair,  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  but  not 
weeping. 

"Is  Mr.  Allison  at  home?"  inquired  Craig  as  we 
passed  out  through  the  hall,  meeting  the  butler  at 
the  door. 

' '  No,  sir, ' '  he  replied.  ' '  He  went  to  New  York  this 
morning,  sir,  and  said  he'd  be  at  the  Club  later  this 
afternoon. ' ' 

We  climbed  into  the  car  and  Kennedy  looked  at  his 
watch.  "It's  getting  well  along  in  the  afternoon," 
he  remarked.  "I  think  I'll  go  over  to  the  Club.  We 
may  find  Allison  there  now. ' ' 

As  we  turned  out  into  the  main  road  our  driver 


THE  ABSOLUTE  ZERO  209 

had  to  swerve  for  a  car  which  turned  off,  coming  from 
the  city,  as  we  had  come  a  few  minutes  before.  He 
looked  around  at  it  blackly,  as  it  went  up  the  road  to 
the  Allison  house,  for  he  had  had  to  stall  his  own 
engine  to  avoid  a  collision.  There  was  no  one  in  the 
other  car  but  a  driver  with  a  visored  hat. 

"Whose  car  was  that?"  asked  Craig  quickly. 

"Allan  Wyndham's,"  answered  our  driver,  start- 
ing his  engine. 

"  H  'm, "  mused  Craig.  ' '  Wyndham  must  have  sent 
her  a  message  from  town.  Too  bad  we  hurried  so  to 
get  up  here." 

At  last,  as  we  turned  a  bend  in  the  main  road,  the 
broad  chimneys,  white  columns  and  wide  balustrades 
of  the  Briar  Lake  Country  Club  loomed  in  sight. 

The  Country  Club  was  a  most  pretentious  building, 
yet,  unlike  many  such  clubs,  had  a  very  hospitable  air 
in  spite  of  its  aristocratic  and  handsome  appearance. 

There  was  something  very  inviting  about  its  wide 
sweep  of  roof  and  ample  piazzas,  some  enclosed  in 
glass,  as  we  approached  by  the  broad  graveled  drive- 
way that  swung  in  from  the  highway  between  the 
gentle  curves  of  green  lawns  whose  expanse  was 
broken  by  the  tall  pines  through  which  we  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  hills.  It  was  indeed  a  beautiful 
country. 

"We  entered  a  wide  hall  and  came  to  the  reception 
room  crowded  with  luxurious  armchairs  and  cozy 
corners.  In  a  glass  case  stood  the  usual  trophies. 

Grouped  about  a  huge  deep  fire  was  a  knot  of 
people,  and  here  and  there  others  were  talking  ear- 
nestly. One  could  feel  that  this  was  one  of  those  social 
institutions  not  to  be  in  which  argued  that  one  was 


210  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

decidedly  out  of  things.  I  could  almost  visualize  the 
close  scrutiny  that  new  applicants  would  undergo, 
not  so  much  as  men  among  men,  but  through  the  eyes 
of  the  women  folk,  dissecting  the  wives  and  daughters 
of  the  family. 

Founded  originally  because  of  the  interest  of  the 
older  members  in  horses  and  the  hunt,  the  Club  had 
now  extended  its  activities  to  polo  and  motors,  golf, 
tennis,  squash,  with  a  fine  old  English  bowling  green 
and  ample  shooting  traps. 

I  could  not  blame  Mrs.  Ferris  for  not  wishing  to 
enter  the  Club  just  yet.  She  had  left  us  at  the  door, 
promising  to  send  the  car  back  for  our  disposal. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  VACUUM  BOTTLE 

FORTUNATELY,  Dean  Allison  was  at  the  Club,  as  we 
hoped,  having  just  arrived  by  the  train  that  left  New 
York  at  the  close  of  the  banking  day.  Someone  told 
us,  however,  that  Wyndham  had  probably  decided  to 
remain  in  town  over  night. 

Allison  was  perhaps  a  little  older  than  I  had  im- 
agined, rather  a  grave  young  man  who  seemed  to 
take  his  club  responsibilities  on  the  Council  very  seri- 
ously. 

' '  I  'd  like  to  talk  to  you  about  this  Evans  case, ' '  be- 
gan Craig  when  we  had  been  introduced. 

"Glad  to  tell  you  all  I  know,"  he  responded  cor- 
dially. "It  isn't  much,  I'm  afraid.  It's  terrible — 
terrible.  We  don't  know  what  to  think.  My  sister  is 
all  broken  up  by  it,  poor  girl. ' ' 

He  led  the  way  over  to  a  corner,  in  a  sort  of  bow 
window,  and  we  sat  down  on  the  hard  leather  cush- 
ions. 

"No,  there  isn't  much  I  can  say,"  he  resumed. 
"You  see,  one  of  the  recreations  of  the  younger  set  at 
the  Club  is  boxing — that's  about  all  there  was  to  it — 
not  the  amateurish  thing  one  usually  sees,  but  real 
scientific  boxing. 

"Fraser  had  adopted  the  so-called  Fitzsimmons 
shift — you  know,  the  right  foot  forward,  while  the 
left  hand  shoots  out  from  somewhere  near  the  hip, 

211 


212  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

plunging  at  close  range  into  the  pit  of  the  stomach." 

Allison  rose  to  illustrate  it.  "Irving,  on  the  other 
hand,  had  been  advocating  the  Jeffries  crouch  as  the 
only  safeguard  to  meet  it, — like  that. ' ' 

He  threw  himself  into  position  and  went  on,  "The 
bout  had  been  arranged,  accordingly,  and  it  was  some 
bout,  too.  Most  of  us  here  are  fond  of  boxing  to 
keep  fit. 

"Well,  at  last  Fraser  got  under  his  guard,  I  sup- 
pose you'd  call  it.  He  landed.  For  an  instant, 
Irving  stood  up  straight,  his  hands  helplessly  ex- 
tended. Most  of  us  thought  he  was  fooling  and 
Fraser  jumped  back,  laughing  at  the  way  his  con- 
tention had  worked  out.  Then,  slowly,  struggling  as 
if  against  the  inevitable,  Irving  bent  forward  and 
toppled  over  on  his  face. 

"That's  where  we  woke  up.  We  rushed  forward 
and  picked  him  up,  apparently  unconscious,  and  car- 
ried him  to  the  locker-room.  There  was  a  good  deal 
of  excitement.  Someone  telephoned  for  a  doctor,  but 
couldn't  seem  to  find  one  at  home." 

"Did  you  see  anything  peculiar  take  place  in  the 
locker-room?"  asked  Kennedy,  following  keenly. 

"Anything  peculiar?" 

"Yes — anyone  near  him,  perhaps — another  blow — 
while  he  was  unconscious. ' ' 

"No — and  I  think  I  would  have  seen  anything  that 
was  out  of  the  way.  I  was  there  almost  all  the  time 
— until  someone  told  me  my  sister  was  upstairs  and 
suggested  that  I  was  the  best  one  to  break  the  news 
to  her." 

"I'd  like  to  look  over  the  gymnasium  and  locker- 
room,"  suggested  Craig. 


THE  VACUUM  BOTTLE  213 

Dean  Allison  led  the  way  downstairs  quickly. 
Craig  did  not  spend  more  than  a  minute  in  the  gym- 
nasium, but  the  locker-room  he  examined  carefully. 

It  was  a  long  room.  Each  locker  bore  the  name  of 
its  owner  and  he  hastily  ran  his  eye  over  them,  get- 
ting their  location. 

I  don't  know  that  even  he  had,  yet,  any  idea  that  he 
would  find  anything,  but  it  was  just  his  habit  to  go 
over  the  ground  of  a  tragedy,  in  hope  of  picking  up 
some  clew. 

He  looked  over  the  floor  very  carefully,  now  and 
then  bending  down  as  if  to  discover  spots.  Once  he 
paused  a  moment,  then  continued  his  measured  tread 
down  the  long  row  of  lockers  until  he  came  to  a  door 
at  the  other  end  of  the  room.  We  went  out  and  Ken- 
nedy looked  about  closely. 

"Oh, — about  Benson,  the  steward,"  he  said,  look- 
ing up  quickly  and  stroking  his  chin  as  if  an  idea  had 
occurred  to  him.  "Is  there  anyone  here  who  might 
know  something  about  him — his  habits,  associates, — 
that  sort  of  thing?" 

"Why — yes,"  considered  Allison  slowly,  "the  chef 
might  know.  Wait,  I'll  call  him." 

As  Allison  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  what  was 
evidently  the  kitchen,  we  stood  outside  by  the  door, 
waiting. 

Kennedy's  eye  traveled  back  and  forth  about  us 
and  finally  fell  on  a  row  of  rubbish  barrels  a  few  feet 
away.  He  moved  over  to  them. 

He  had  half  turned  away,  retracing  his  steps  back 
to  me  thoughtfully,  when  his  eye  must  have  been  at- 
tracted by  something  gleaming.  He  turned  back  and 
poked  at  it  with  his  stick.  Peeping  from  the  rubbish 


214  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

was  a  dented  thermos  bottle,  the  lining  of  which  was 
cracked  and  broken. 

He  was  about  to  turn  away  again  when  his  eye  fell 
on  something  else.  It  was  the  top  of  the  bottle,  the 
little  metal  cap  that  screws  over  it,  or  rather  it  was 
what  was  left  of  the  cap. 

"That's  strange,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  picking 
it  up. 

The  cap,  which  might  have  been  used  as  a  cup,  was 
broken  in  the  most  peculiar  manner,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  it  was  metal.  If  it  had  been  of  glass  I 
should  have  said  that  someone  had  dropped  it. 

Kennedy  frowned  and  dropped  the  pieces  into  his 
pocket,  turning  to  wait  for  Allison  to  return  with 
the  chef. 

"I  can't  seem  to  find  him,"  reported  Allison  a 
moment  later.  "But  he'll  be  here  soon.  He'll  have 
to  be — or  lose  his  job.  How  would  after  dinner  do? 
I'll  have  him  and  all  the  other  employes,  then." 

"Good!"  agreed  Kennedy.  "That  will  give  me 
time  to  go  into  the  town  first  and  get  back. ' ' 

"I'd  be  glad  to  have  you  dine  with  me,"  invited 
Allison. 

"Thank  you,"  smiled  Kennedy.  "I'm  afraid  I 
won 't  have  time  for  dining  tonight.  I  '11  be  back  after 
dinner,  though." 

Mrs.  Ferris 's  car  had  returned  and  Craig's  next 
step  was  to  go  on  into  the  town  of  Briar  Lake. 

On  the  way  he  decided  first  to  stop  at  the  Evans 
house,  which  took  us  only  a  little  bit  out  of  our  way. 
There  he  made  a  minute  examination  of  the  body  of 
the  young  man. 

Irving  Evans  had  been  a  handsome  fellow  and  the 


THE  VACUUM  BOTTLE  215 

tragedy  of  his  death  had  been  a  sad  blow  to  his  fam- 
ily. However,  I  shall  not  dwell  on  that,  as  it  is  no 
part  of  my  story. 

Kennedy  was  eager  to  see  the  red  spot  in  the  pit 
of  the  stomach  of  the  dead  man  of  which  everyone 
had  spoken. 

He  looked  at  it  closely,  as  I  did  also,  although  I 
could  make  nothing  of  it.  Evans  had  complained  of 
a  burning,  stinging  sensation,  during  his  moments  of 
consciousness  and  the  mark  had  had  a  flushed,  angry 
look.  It  seemed  as  though  a  sort  of  crust  had  formed 
over  it,  which  now  was  ashen  white. 

Craig  did  not  spend  as  long  as  I  had  anticipated 
at  the  Evans  house,  but,  although  he  said  nothing,  I 
could  tell  by  the  expression  of  his  face  that  he  was 
satisfied  with  the  conclusions  which  he  drew  from 
the  examination.  Yet  I  could  not  see  that  the  com- 
bination of  circumstances  looked  much  better  for 
Fraser  Ferris.  $ 

We  went  on  now  to  the  town  and  there  we  had  no 
trouble  in  meeting  the  authorities  and  getting  them  to 
talk.  In  fact,  they  seemed  quite  eager  to  justify 
themselves. 

As  we  passed  down  the  main  street,  Mrs.  Ferris 's 
chauffeur  mentioned  the  fact  that  a  local  physician, 
Dr.  Welch,  was  also  the  Coroner  of  the  county.  Ken- 
nedy asked  him  to  stop  at  the  doctor's  office,  and  we 
entered. 

"A  most  unfortunate  occurrence,"  prefaced  the 
doctor  as  we  seated  ourselves. 

"You  assume,  then,  that  it  was  the  blow  that  killed 
Evans?"  asked  Kennedy  pointedly. 

The  doctor  looked  at  him  a  moment.    "Of  course — 


216  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

why  not?"  he  demanded  argumentatively,  as  though 
we  had  come  all  the  way  from  the  city  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  impugning  his  medical  integrity.  ''I  sup- 
pose you  know  the  classical  case  of  the  young  man 
who  was  coming  out  of  the  theater,  when  some  of  the 
party  began  indulging  in  rather  boisterous  horse 
play?  One  bent  another  quickly  over  his  arm  and 
tapped  him  a  sharp  blow  with  the  disengaged  hand  on 
the  stretched  abdomen.  The  blow  fell  right  over  the 
solar  plexus  and,  to  the  surprise  of  everyone,  the 
young  man  died. ' ' 

The  Coroner  had  risen  and  was  pacing  the  room 
slowly.  "I  could  cite  innumerable  cases.  Everyone 
understands  that  a  blow  may  be  fatal  because  of  shock 
to  the  solar  plexus.  In  such  a  case  no  post-mortem 
trace  might  be  found  and  the  blow  could  even  be  a 
light  one. 

"For  instance,  in  a  fight  a  blow  might  be  struck 
and  the  recipient  fall  dead.  If  the  medical  examiner 
should  find  nothing  on  holding  the  autopsy  which 
would  have  caused  sudden  death,  he  can  testify  that 
a  shock  to  the  solar  plexus  will  cause  death  and  that 
the  post-mortem  examination  will  give  no  evidence  to 
support  or  disprove  the  statement.  The  absolute  ab- 
sence, however,  of  any  reason  or  of  injury  to  the  other 
organs  will  add  weight  to  his  testimony,  evidence  of 
the  blow  being  present." 

"And  you  think  this  was  such  a  case?"  asked  Ken- 
nedy, with  just  a  trace  of  a  challenge  in  his  tone. 

"Certainly,"  replied  the  Coroner.  "Certainly. 
We  know  that  a  blow  was  struck — in  all  probability 
hard  enough  to  affect  the  solar  plexus." 

It  was  evident,  in  his  mind  at  least,  that  young 


THE  VACUUM  BOTTLE  217 

Ferris  was  guilty  and  Kennedy  rose  to  go,  refraining 
from  antagonizing  him  by  further  questions. 

We  next  visited  the  county  court  house,  which  was 
not  far  from  the  doctor's  office.  There,  the  sheriff,  a 
young  man,  met  us  and  seemed  willing  to  talk  over 
the  evidence  which  so  far  had  been  unearthed  in  the 
case. 

In  his  office  was  a  trunk,  a  cheap  brown  affair,  in 
which  the  body  of  the  unfortunate  steward,  Benson, 
had  been  found. 

"Quite  likely  the  trunk  had  been  carried  to  the 
spot  in  a  car  and  thrown  off,"  the  sheriff  explained. 
"A  couple  of  boys  happened  to  find  it.  They  told  of 
their  find  and  one  of  the  constables  opened  the  trunk, 
then  called  us  up  here.  In  the  trunk  was  the  body  of 
a  man,  crouched,  the  head  forced  back  between  the 
knees. ' ' 

"I'd  like  to  see  Benson's  body,"  remarked  Ken- 
nedy. 

"Very  well,  I'll  go  with  you,"  returned  the  sheriff. 
"It's  at  the  undertaker's — our  only  local  morgue." 

As  we  walked  slowly  up  the  street,  the  sheriff  went 
on,  just  to  show  that  country  as  well  as  city  detectives 
knew  a  thing  or  two.  "There  are  just  two  things  in 
which  this  differs  from  the  ordinary  barrel  or  trunk 
murder  you  read  about. ' ' 

"What  are  they?"  encouraged  Craig. 

"Well,  we  know  the  victim.  There  wasn't  any 
difficulty  about  identifying  him.  We  know  it  wasn't 
really  a  Black  Hand  crime,  although  everything 
seems  to  have  been  done  to  make  it  look  like  one,  and 
the  body  was  left  in  the  most  lonely  part  of  the 
country. 


218  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"And  then  the  trunk.  We  have  traced  it  easily  to 
the  Club  House.  It  was  Benson's  own  trunk — had 
been  up  in  his  own  room,  which  was  locked." 

"His  own  trunk?"  repeated  Craig,  suddenly  be- 
coming interested.  "How  could  anyone  take  it  out, 
without  being  seen  ?  Didn  't  anyone  hear  anything  ? ' ' 

"No.  Apparently  not.  None  of  the  other  servants 
seem  to  have  heard  a  thing.  I  don't  know  how  it 
could  have  been  got  out,  especially  as  his  door  was 
locked  and  we  found  the  keys  on  him.  But — well,  it 
was.  That 'sail." 

We  had  reached  the  undertaker's. 

The  body  of  Benson  was  horribly  mangled  about 
the  head  and  chest,  particularly  the  mouth.  It 
seemed  as  if  a  great  hole  had  been  torn  in  him,  and 
he  must  have  died  instantly.  Kennedy  examined  the 
grewsome  remains  most  carefully. 

What  had  done  it,  I  wondered?  Could  the  man 
have  been  drugged,  perhaps,  and  then  shot? 

"Maybe  it  was  a  dum-dum  bullet,"  I  suggested, 
"one  of  those  that  mushrooms  out  and  produces  such 
frightful  wounds." 

"But  assuming  it  entered  the  front,  there  is  no 
exit  in  the  back,"  the  sheriff  put  in  quickly,  "and 
no  bullet  has  been  found. ' ' 

"Well,  if  he  wasn't  shot,"  I  persisted,  "it  must 
have  been  a  blow,  and  it  seems  impossible  that  a  blow 
could  have  produced  such  an  effect. ' ' 

The  sheriff  said  nothing,  evidently  preferring  to 
gain  with  silence  a  reputation  for  superior  wisdom. 
Kennedy  had  nothing  better  than  silence  to  offer, 
either,  though  he  continued  for  a  long  time  examining 
the  wounds  on  the  body. 


THE  VACUUM  BOTTLE  219 

Our  last  visit  in  town  was  to  Fraser  Ferris  himself, 
to  whom  the  sheriff  agreed  to  conduct  us.  Ferris  was 
confined  in  the  grim,  dark,  stone,  vine-clad  county 
jail. 

We  had  scarcely  entered  the  forbidding  door  of  the 
place  when  we  heard  a  step  behind  us.  We  turned  to 
see  Mrs.  Ferris  again.  She  seemed  very  much  ex- 
cited, and  together  we  four,  with  a  keeper,  mounted 
the  steps. 

As  she  caught  sight  of  her  son,  behind  the  bars,  she 
seemed  to  gasp,  then  nerve  herself  up  to  face  the 
ordeal  of  seeing  a  Ferris  in  such  a  place. 

" Fraser,"  she  cried,  running  forward. 

He  was  tall,  sunburned,  and  looked  like  a  good 
sportsman,  a  clean-cut  fellow.  It  was  hard  to  think 
of  him  as  a  murderer,  especially  after  the  affecting 
meeting  of  the  mother  and  son. 

"Do  you  know  what  I've  just  heard?"  she  asked 
at  length,  then  scarcely  pausing  for  a  word  of  en- 
couragement from  him,  she  went  on.  "Why,  they  say 
that  Benson  was  in  town  early  that  evening,  drink- 
ing heavily  and  that  that  might  account — " 

"There — there  you  are,"  he  cried  earnestly.  "I 
don't  know  what  happened.  But  why  should  I  do 
anything  to  him?  Perhaps  someone  waylaid  him. 
That's  plausible." 

' '  Of  course, ' '  warned  Kennedy  a  few  minutes  later, 
"you  know  that  anything  you  say  may  be  used 
against  you.  But — " 

"I  will  talk,"  interrupted  the  young  man  passion- 
ately, "although  my  lawyer  tells  me  not  to.  Why, 
it's  all  so  silly.  As  for  Irving  Evans,  I  can't  see  how 
I  could  have  hit  him  hard  enough,  while,  as  for  poor 


220  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

Benson, — well,  that's  even  sillier  yet.  How  should 
I  know  anything  of  that?  Besides,  they  were  all  at 
the  Club  late  that  night,  all  except  me,  talking  over 
the — the  accident.  Why  don't  they  suspect  Wynd- 
ham?  He  was  there.  Why  don't  they  suspect — some 
of  the  others?" 

Mrs.  Ferris  was  trying  to  keep  a  brave  face  and 
her  son  was  more  eager  to  encourage  her  than  to  do 
anything  else. 

"Keep  up  a  good  heart,  Mother,"  he  called,  as  we 
finally  left,  after  his  thanking  Kennedy  most  heart- 
ily. "They  haven't  indicted  me  yet,  and  the  grand 
jury  won't  meet  for  a  couple  of  weeks.  Lots  of 
things  may  turn  up  before  then." 

It  was  evident  that,  next  to  the  disgrace  of  the 
arrest,  his  mother  feared  even  more  the  shame  of  an 
indictment  and  trial,  even  though  it  might  end  in  an 
acquittal.  Yet  so  far  we  had  found  no  one,  as  far  as 
I  knew,  who  had  been  able  to  give  us  a  fact  that  con- 
tradicted the  deductions  of  the  authorities  in  the 
case. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE    SOLAR    PLEXUS 

IT  was  after  the  dinner  hour  that  we  found  our- 
selves at  the  Country  Club  again.  Wyndham  had 
not  come  back  from  the  city,  but  Allison  was  there 
and  had  gathered  together  all  the  Club  help  so  that 
Kennedy  might  question  them. 

He  did  question  them  down  in  the  locker-room,  I 
thought  perhaps  for  the  moral  effect.  The  chef,  whom 
I  had  suspected  of  knowing  something,  was  there,  but 
proved  to  be  unenlightening.  In  fact,  no  one  seemed 
to  have  anything  to  contribute.  Quite  the  contrary. 
They  could  not  even  suggest  a  way  in  which  the  trunk 
might  have  been  taken  from  the  steward's  room. 

"That's  not  very  difficult,"  smiled  Kennedy,  as  one 
after  another  the  servants  asserted  that  it  would  be 
impossible  to  get  it  around  the  turns  in  the  stairs 
without  making  a  noise.  "Where  was  Benson's 
room?" 

The  chef  led  the  way  to  the  door,  that  by  which  we 
had  gone  out  before  when  we  had  seen  the  rubbish 
barrels. 

"Up  there,"  he  pointed,  "on  the  third  floor." 

There  was  no  fire  escape,  nor  were  there  any  out- 
side balconies,  and  I  wondered  how  Craig  would  ac- 
count for  it. 

"Someone  might  have  lowered  the  trunk  from  the 
window  by  a  rope,  might  they  not  ? "  he  asked  simply. 

221 


222  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"Yes,"  returned  the  chef,  unconvinced.  "But  his 
door  was  locked  and  he  had  his  keys  in  his  pocket. 
How  about  that?" 

"It  doesn't  follow  that  he  was  killed  in  his  room, 
does  it?"  asked  Craig.  "In  fact  it  is  altogether  im- 
possible that  he  could  have  been.  Suppose  he  wad 
killed  outside.  Might  not  someone  have  taken  the 
keys  from  his  pocket,  gone  up  to  the  room  without 
making  any  noise  and  let  the  trunk  down  here  by  a 
rope?  Then  if  he  had  dropped  the  rope,  locked  the 
door,  and  returned  the  keys  to  Benson's  pockets — how 
about  that?" 

It  was  so  simple  and  feasible  that  no  one  could 
deny  it.  Yet  I  could  not  see  that  it  furthered  us  in 
solving  the  greater  mystery. 

We  went  up  to  the  steward's  room  and  searched 
his  belongings,  without  finding  anything  that  merited 
even  that  expenditure  of  time. 

However,  Craig  was  confident  now,  although  he  did 
not  say  much,  and  by  a  late  train  we  returned  to  the 
city  in  preference  to  using  Mrs.  Ferris 's  car. 

All  the  next  day,  Kennedy  was  engaged,  either  in 
his  laboratory  or  on  an  errand  that  took  him  down- 
town during  most  of  the  middle  of  the  day. 

When  he  returned,  I  could  tell  by  the  look  on  his 
face  that  his  quest,  whatever  it  had  been,  had  been 
successful. 

"I  found  Wyndham — had  a  long  talk  with  him," 
was  all  he  would  say  in  answer  to  my  questions,  be- 
fore he  went  back  to  whatever  he  was  studying  at  the 
laboratory. 

I  had  made  some  inquiries  myself  in  the  meantime, 
especially  about  Wyndham.  As  nearly  as  I  could 


THE  SOLAR  PLEXUS  223 

make  out,  the  young  men  at  Briar  Lake  were  afflicted 
with  a  disease  which  is  very  prevalent — the  desire  to 
get  rich  quick.  In  that  respect  Fraser  Ferris  was  no 
better  than  the  rest.  Nor  was  Irving  Evans.  Allan 
Wyndham  had  been  a  plunger  almost  from  boyhood, 
and  only  the  tight  rein  that  his  conservative  father 
held  over  him  had  checked  him.  Sometimes  the 
young  men  succeeded,  and  that  had  served  only  to 
whet  their  appetites  for  more  easy  money.  But  more 
often  they  had  failed.  In  most  cases,  it  seemed, 
Dean  Allison's  firm  had  been  the  brokers  through 
whom  they  dealt,  particularly  Wyndham. 

In  fact,  with  more  time  on  my  hands  during  the 
day  than  I  knew  what  to  do  with,  in  the  absence  of 
Kennedy  I  had  evolved  several  very  pretty  little  theo- 
ries of  the  case  which  involved  the  recouping  of  dis- 
sipated fortunes  by  marriage  with  the  popular  young 
heiress. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  that  the  telephone 
rang,  and,  as  Craig  was  busy,  I  answered  it. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Jameson,"  I  heard  Mrs.  Ferris 's  voice 
calling  over  long  distance  from  Briar  Lake  anxiously, 
"is  Mr.  Kennedy  there?  Please  let  me  speak  to 
him." 

I  hastened  to  hand  over  the  receiver  to  Kennedy 
and  waited  impatiently  until  he  finished. 

"A  special  grand  jury  has  been  empanelled  for 
ten  o'clock  tomorrow  morning,"  he  said  as  he  turned 
from  the  wire  and  faced  me,  "and  unless  we  can  do 
something  immediately,  they  are  sure  to  find  an  in- 
dictment. ' ' 

Kennedy  scowled  and  shook  his  head.  "It  looks 
to  me  as  if  someone  were  mighty  anxious  to  railroad 


224  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

young  Ferris  along,"  he  remarked,  hurrying  across 
to  the  laboratory  table,  where  he  had  been  at  work, 
and  flinging  off  his  stained  smock. 

''Well,  are  you  ready  for  them?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  replied  quickly.  ''Call  up  and  find  out 
about  the  trains  to  Briar  Lake,  Walter. ' ' 

I  found  that  we  could  easily  get  a  train  that  would 
have  us  at  the  Country  Club  not  later  than  eight 
o'clock,  and  as  I  turned  to  tell  Kennedy,  I  saw  him 
carefully  packing  into  a  case  a  peculiar  shaped  flask 
which  he  had  been  using  in  some  of  his  experiments. 
Outside  it  had  a  felt  jacket,  and  as  we  hurried  over 
to  the  station  Kennedy  carried  it  carefully  in  the 
case  by  a  handle. 

The  ride  out  to  Briar  Lake  seemed  interminable, 
but  it  was  better  than  going  up  in  a  car  at  night,  and 
Mrs.  Ferris  met  us  anxiously  at  the  station. 

Thus,  early  in  the  evening,  in  the  little  reception 
room  of  the  Country  Club,  there  gathered  a  large 
party,  not  the  largest  it  had  seen,  but  certainly  the 
most  interested.  In  fact  no  one,  except  young  Ferris, 
had  any  legitimate  reason  for  staying  away. 

"Dead  men  tell  no  tales,"  remarked  Kennedy  sen- 
tentiously,  as  he  faced  us,  having  whispered  to  me 
that  he  wanted  me  to  take  a  position  near  the  door  and 
stay  there,  no  matter  what  happened.  "But,"  he 
added,  "science  opens  their  mute  mouths.  Science 
has  become  the  greatest  detective  in  the  world. 

"Once  upon  a  time,  it  is  true,  many  a  murderer 
was  acquitted  and  perhaps  many  an  innocent  man 
hanged  because  of  appearances.  But  today  the  assas- 
sin has  to  reckon  with  the  chemist,  the  physicist,  the 
X-ray  expert,  and  a  host  of  others.  They  start  on  his 


THE  SOLAR  PLEXUS  225 

track  and  force  him  to  face  damning,  dispassionate 
scientific  facts. 

"And,"  he  went  on,  raising  his  voice  a  trifle, 
"science,  with  equal  zeal,  brings  facts  to  clear  an  in- 
nocent man  protesting  his  innocence,  but  condemned 
by  circumstantial  evidence. ' ' 

For  a  moment  he  paused,  and  when  he  began  again 
it  was  evident  that  he  was  going  straight  to  the  point 
at  issue  in  the  case. 

"Various  theories  have  been  confidently  proposed 
in  this  unfortunate  affair  which  resulted  in  the  death 
of  Irving  Evans, ' '  he  proceeded.  ' '  One  thing  I  want 
clear  at  the  start.  The  fact  is,  and  I  am  not  running 
counter  to  it,  that  we  have  what  might  very  well  be 
called  two  brains.  One  is  in  the  head,  does  the  think- 
ing. The  other  is  a  sort  of  abdominal  brain,  controls 
nutrition  and  a  host  of  other  functions,  automatically. 
It  is  the  solar  plexus — the  epigastric,  sympathetic 
nervous  system. 

"It  is  true  that  the  knot  of  life  is  situated  at  the 
base  of  the  cranial  brain.  One  jab  of  a  needle  and  it 
might  be  quickly  extinguished.  Yet  derangement  of 
the  so-called  abdominal  brain  destroys  life  as  effectu- 
ally, though  perhaps  not  so  quickly.  A  shock  to  the 
abdominal  brain  of  young  Evans  has  been  adminis- 
tered— in  a  most  remarkable  manner. ' ' 

I  could  see  Mrs.  Ferris  watching  him  with  staring 
eyes,  for  Kennedy  was  doing  just  what  many  a  lawyer 
does — stating  first  the  bad  side  of  one's  case,  and 
seeming  to  establish  the  contention  of  the  opposite 
side. 

"It  was  an  unfortunate  blow,"  he  admitted,  "per- 
haps even  dangerous.  But  it  was  not  deadly.  What 


226  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

happened  downstairs  in  the  gymnasium  must  be  taken 
into  account  with  what  happened  afterwards  in  the 
locker  and  both  considered  in  the  light  of  the  death  of 
the  steward,  Benson,  later. 

"The  mark  on  the  stomach  of  Irving  Evans  was  due 
to  something  else  than  the  blow.  Everyone  has 
noticed  that.  It  was  a  peculiar  mark  and  no  mere 
blow  could  have  produced  it. 

"Weird  in  conception,  horribly  cunning  in  its  exe- 
cution was  this  attempt  at  murder, ' '  he  added,  taking 
from  the  case  the  peculiar  flask  which  I  had  seen  him 
pack  up. 

He  held  it  up  so  that  we  could  see.  It  was  evidently 
composed  of  two  flasks,  one  inside  the  other,  the  outer 
encased  in  felt,  as  I  had  seen,  the  inner  coated  with 
quicksilver  and  a  space  between  the  two.  Inside  was 
a  peculiar  liquid  which  had  a  bluish  tinge,  but  was 
odorless.  From  the  surface  a  thin  vapor  seemed  to 
rise. 

It  was  not  corked,  but  from  the  neck  he  pulled  out 
a  light  cotton  stopper.  As  he  agitated  the  liquid 
slightly,  it  had  the  appearance  of  boiling.  He  turned 
over  the  bottle  and  spilled  some  of  it  on  the  floor.  It 
evaporated  instantly,  like  water  on  a  hot  stove. 

Then  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  small  tin  cup  and 
poured  out  into  it  some  of  the  liquid,  letting  it  stand 
a  few  moments,  smoking. 

He  poured  back  the  liquid  into  the  flask  and 
dropped  the  cup  on  the  hardwood  floor.  It  shattered 
as  if  it  had  been  composed  of  glass. 

One  of  the  men  in  the  front  row  moved  forward  to 
pick  up  the  pieces. 

"Just  a  minute,"  interfered  Kennedy.     "If  you 


THE  SOLAR  PLEXUS  227 

think  anything  of  your  fingers,  let  that  be.  In  the 
rubbish,  just  outside  the  locker-room,  yesterday,  I 
discovered  the  remains  of  a  thermos  bottle  and  of  a 
metal  cup  like  this  which  I  have  dropped  on  the  floor. 
I  have  examined  the  cup,  or  rather  the  pieces. 

' '  These  two  murders  were  committed  by  one  of  the 
least  known  agencies — freezing,  by  liquid  air." 

I  could  hear  a  gasp  from  the  auditors  and  I  knew 
that  someone's  heart  must  be  icy  at  the  discovery  of 
the  portentous  secret. 

"I  have  some  liquid  air  in  this  Dewar  flask,"  con- 
tinued Kennedy.  ' '  That  is  what  liquid  air  is  usually 
kept  in.  But  it  may  be  kept  in  an  ordinary  thermos 
bottle  quite  well,  also. 

"If  I  should  drop  just  a  minute  bit  on  my  hand,  it 
would  probably  boil  away  without  hurting  me,  for  it 
evaporates  so  quickly  that  it  forms  a  layer  or  film 
of  air  which  prevents  contact  of  the  terribly  cold 
liquid  air  and  the  skin.  I  might  thrust  my  finger  in 
it  for  a  few  seconds  and  it  would  not  hurt  me.  But 
if  I  kept  it  there  my  finger  would  become  brittle  and 
actually  break  off,  so  terrible  is  the  cold  of  one  hun- 
dred and  ninety  degrees  below  zero,  Centigrade.  It 
produces  an  instantaneous  frost  bite,  numbing  so 
quickly  that  it  often  is  hardly  felt.  Placed  on  the  sur- 
face of  flesh  this  way,  it  changes  it  to  a  pearly-white, 
solid  surface.  The  thawing,  however,  is  intensely 
painful,  giving  first  a  burning  sensation,  then  a  sting- 
ing, flushed  feeling,  exactly  as  Irving  Evans  described 
what  he  felt.  The  part  affected  swells  and  a  crust 
forms  which  it  takes  weeks  to  heal,  supposing  the  part 
affected  is  small. 

"Someone,  in  that  locker-room,"  continued  Craig, 


228  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"placed  a  piece  of  cotton  soaked  in  liquid  air  on  the 
stomach  of  the  unconscious  boy.  Instantly,  before 
anyone  noticed  it,  it  froze  through  to  the  solar  plexus. 
Ultimately  that  was  bound  to  kill  him.  And  who 
would  bear  the  blame  ?  "Why,  Fraser  Ferris,  of  course. 
The  accident  in  the  bout  afforded  an  opportunity  to 
use  the  stuff  which  the  criminal  in  his  wildest  dreams 
could  not  have  bettered. ' ' 

"How  about  Benson,  the  steward?"  spoke  up  a 
voice. 

We  turned.  It  was  the  Coroner,  loath  even  yet  to 
give  up  the  official  theory. 

"That  was  a  pure  accident,"  returned  Kennedy. 
"The  club,  as  you  know,  is  a  temperance  club.  But 
the  members,  or  at  least  some  of  them,  keep  drinks 
in  their  lockers.  The  steward,  Benson,  knew  this.  It 
has  been  shown  that  Benson  had  been  in  town  that 
evening,  had  imbibed  considerably. 

"He  had  observed  one  of  the  members  of  the  club 
take  from  his  locker  something  which  he  thought  was 
to  revive  young  Evans.  What  more  natural,  then, 
than  for  him  to  visit  that  locker  when  he  returned 
from  town,  open  it  ? 

"He  found  a  thermos  bottle.  Instead  of  the  regu- 
lar cork,  it  had  a  light  cotton  stopper.  In  his  muddled 
state,  the  steward  did  not  stop  to  think — even  if  he 
had,  he  would  have  seen  no  reason  for  carefully  cork- 
ing something  that  was  not  designed  to  keep  in  a 
thermos  bottle. 

"But  instead  of  whiskey,  the  bottle  contained  what 
had  not  yet  evaporated  of  the  liquid  air.  You  may 
not  know  it,  but  liquid  air  can  be  easily  preserved  in 
open  vessels  with  a  stopper  which  allows  the  passage 


THE  SOLAR  PLEXUS  229 

of  the  evaporated  air.  However  paradoxical  it  may 
seem,  it  cannot  be  kept  in  closed  vessels,  for  enormous 
pressures  are  at  once  brought  into  play. 

"Benson  opened  the  bottle  and  poured  out  some  of 
the  contents  in  the  metal  cup-cap  of  the  bottle.  He 
raised  it  to  his  lips — swallowed  it — or  that  much  of  it 
that  did  not  paralyze  him.  It  expanded,  boiled,  ex- 
ploded— producing  the  ghastly  wound  by  almost  lit- 
erally blowing  him  up. 

"The  owner  of  the  liquid  air,  who  must  have  had  it 
there  waiting  a  chance  to  use  it,  was  probably  waiting 
up  in  the  club  rooms  now,  for  a  chance  to  get  rid  of 
it  as  evidence.  He  must  have  heard  a  noise  down  in 
the  locker-room.  What  if  he  had  been  observed  and 
someone  were  down  there  investigating  ? 

"He  hurried  down  there.  To  his  horror,  in  the 
darkness,  he  found  Benson,  already  dead,  the  locker 
open,  the  thermos  bottle  broken  and  the  cup  smashed. 

"It  was  a  terrible  clew.  He  must  get  that  body 
away  from  the  locker-room.  He  could  throw  the  bottle 
out;  no  one  could  suspect  anything  when  the  air 
had  evaporated,  as  it  soon  would,  now.  But  the  body 
— that  was  different.  The  method  he  employed  in 
getting  rid  of  the  body,  I  think  you  all  must  already 
know. ' ' 

I  had  been  watching  Wyndham's  face  keenly.  As 
Craig  proceeded,  I  fancied  that  I  saw  in  it  a  look  of 
startled  surprise. 

"Was  it  one  of  Anita  Allison's  many  admirers  who 
did  this  thing?"  Craig  asked  suddenly. 

I  turned  from  Wyndham  to  Craig,  wondering. 
What  did  he  mean?  Everyone  had  accepted  that 
theory  of  the  case  so  far.  No  one  had  questioned  it. 


230  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

But,  with  his  words,  it  suddenly  dawned  on  me  that 
it  was  by  no  means  the  only  theory. 

Before  Craig  could  go  on,  there  came  a  startled  cry 
from  one  of  the  ladies. 

"Oh— he  did  it— he  did  it!" 

Anita  Allison  had  fainted. 

Dean  Allison  was  at  his  sister's  side  in  a  moment. 

"Here — let  me  get  her  out  into  the  fresh  air,"  he 
cried. 

Wyndham  had  started  up  at  the  words  and  the  two 
men  were  facing  each  other  over  the  girl  who  had 
already  discovered  the  secret,  but  had  kept  it  locked 
in  her  breast. 

"Walter — lock  that  door,"  rang  out  Craig's  voice 
mercilessly. 

I  backed  up,  my  whole  weight  against  it,  and  turned 
the  key. 

"I  know  the  gossip  of  Wall  Street  now,"  shot  out 
Kennedy  hurriedly,  facing  the  crowd  who  were  all  on 
their  feet.  ' '  Today  I  have  visited  a  number  of  specu- 
lative young  gentlemen  of  Briar  Lake,  including  Mr. 
Wyndham. 

"The  truth  is  that  Miss  Allison's  fortune  was  gone 
— dissipated  in  an  unsuccessful  bear  raid  on  the  mar- 
ket in  which  others  have  shared — and  lost. 

"If  she  had  married,  it  meant  an  accounting  and 
surrendering  of  her  full  control  of  her  fortune.  You 
have  done  this  dastardly  crime,  Dean  Allison,  to  keep 
your  sister  in  ignorance  of  the  loss  and  to  save  your 
own  miserable  reputation ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE   DEMON   ENGINE 

' '  PERPETUAL  motion  sounds  foolish,  I  '11  admit.  But, 
Professor  Kennedy,  this  Creighton  self-acting  motor 
does  things  I  can't  explain." 

Craig  looked  perplexed  as  he  gazed  from  Adele 
Laidlaw,  his  young  and  very  pretty  client,  to  me.  "We 
had  heard  a  great  deal  about  the  young  lady,  one  of 
the  wealthiest  heiresses  of  the  country.  She  paused  a 
moment  and  looked  at  us,  evidently  thinking  of  the 
many  schemes  which  people  had  devised  to  get  her 
money  away  from  her. 

' '  Really, ' '  she  went  on, ' '  I  haven 't  a  friend  to  whom 
I  can  go,  except  Mr.  Tresham — no  one  on  whom  I  can 
rely  for  advice  in  a  case  of  this  kind. ' ' 

Several  times,  I  recollected,  there  had  been  rumors 
that  she  was  engaged  to  Leslie  Tresham,  who  had  been 
the  lawyer  for  her  father  before  his  death.  The 
rumors  had  always  been  denied,  however,  though  I  am 
sure  it  was  not  Tresham 's  fault. 

"You  see,"  she  continued,  as  Craig  still  said  noth- 
ing, "father  was  of  a  mechanical  turn  of  mind;  in 
fact  so  was  the  whole  family,  and  I  suppose  I  have 
inherited  it.  I  'm  just  crazy  over  cars  and  boats.  Any- 
how, I  was  introduced  to  Mr.  Creighton  and  he  seemed 
so  earnest  and  his  work  was  so  interesting  that  I 
bought  a  little  of  his  stock.  Now  he  needs  more 

231 


232  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

money  to  perfect  his  motor.  Perhaps  the  thing  is  all 
right,  but, — well,  what  do  I  really  know  about  it  ? " 

One  could  not  help  feeling  a  great  deal  of  sympathy 
for  her.  She  was  not  the  type  of  woman  who  would 
be  easily  misled,  yet  I  could  imagine  that  she  must 
constantly  be  on  her  guard  against  schemers  of  every 
sort  lurking  to  take  advantage  of  every  whim. 

"H'm,"  mused  Kennedy,  with  a  smile,  eyeing  our 
visitor  keenly.  "I've  been  consulted  on  about  every- 
thing from  pickpockets  to  the  fountain  of  youth. 
Now  it's  perpetual  motion.  I  must  say,  Miss  Laidlaw, 
your  case  has  a  decided  scientific  interest  for  me,  any- 
how, as  well  as  personal.  I  'd  like  to  look  at  this  won- 
derful machine,  if  you  can  arrange  it." 

"I  can  do  that,"  she  answered  confidently  with  a 
glance  of  thanks  to  Kennedy  for  his  help.  "May  I 
use  your  telephone  ? ' ' 

She  had  to  wait  some  time  for  an  answer  to  her  call, 
but  finally  she  got  Creighton  on  the  wire. 

"He  had  just  come  in,"  she  said,  hanging  up  the 
receiver.  "He'll  be  there  if  we  come  down  right 
away." 

Adele  Laidlaw  drove  us  downtown  in  her  own  high- 
powered  car,  which,  true  to  her  mechanical  instincts, 
she  handled  herself.  She  drove  it  very  well,  too.  In 
fact,  I  felt  safer  than  with  Kennedy,  who,  like  many 
drivers,  was  inclined  to  take  chances  when  he  was  at 
the  wheel  himself  and  could  see  what  he  was  up 
against,  though  he  balked  severely  when  anyone  else 
did  it. 

"How  did  you  become  interested  in  this  perpetual 
motion  machine,  Miss  Laidlaw?"  he  asked  as  we 
threaded  our  way  through  the  dense  traffic. 


THE  DEMON  ENGINE  233 

"Well,  I  suppose  everyone  knows  that  I'm  inter- 
ested in  engines,"  she  replied,  as  we  waited  for  the 
signal  from  a  policeman  at  a  cross-street.  ' '  I  've  spent 
a  good  deal  on  them  in  speed-boats  and  in  racing  cars, 
too.  An  acquaintance,  a  friend  of  Mr.  Creighton's,  a 
Mrs.  Barry, — Mr.  Tresham  knows  her, — thought  per- 
haps I  might  use  the  motor  somehow  and  told  me  of  it. 
I  went  down  to  see  it  and — I  must  confess  that  it 
fascinated  me." 

I  had  not  yet  quite  got  myself  accustomed  to  a  girl 
who  was  interested  in  such  things,  though,  in  these 
days,  I  must  confess,  saw  no  reason  why  she  should 
not  be.  Kennedy  was  dividing  his  attention  between 
the  admirable  manner  in  which  she  handled  the  car 
and  her  very  expressive  face.  Was  it  really,  I  won- 
dered, that  Creighton,  more  than  his  motor,  has  fasci- 
nated her  ? 

She  drew  up  before  the  Consolidated  Bank  Build- 
ing, a  modern  steel  and  concrete  structure  in  the  up- 
town business  section. 

''The  laboratory  is  next  door,"  she  said,  as  she  let 
the  car  slide  ahead  a  few  feet  more.  ' '  Mr.  Tresham 's 
office  is  in  the  Bank  Building.  I've  had  to  go  there  so 
often  since  father  died  that  I  stopped  through  force 
of  habit,  I  suppose." 

Mindful  of  Kennedy's  admiration  for  Freud*  his 
theory  of  forgetting  occurred  to  me.  Was  there  any 
significance  in  the  mistake?  Had  the  unconscious 
blunder  betrayed  something  which  perhaps  she  herself 
consciously  did  not  realize?  Was  it  Tresham,  after 
all,  whom  she  really  admired  and  wanted  to  see  ? 

Creighton's  workshop  was  in  an  old  two-story  brick 
building,  evidently  awaiting  only  the  development  of 


234  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

the  neighborhood  before  it  was  torn  down.  Mean- 
while the  two  buildings  were  in  marked  contrast. 
Which  of  them  typified  Creighton?  Was  he  hope- 
lessly out  of  date,  or  really  ahead  of  his  time  ?  I  must 
confess  to  having  had  a  lively  curiosity  to  meet  the 
inventor. 

The  entrance  to  the  laboratory  from  the  street  was 
through  a  large  door  into  a  room  in  which  was  a  car- 
penter's bench.  On  one  side  were  some  powerful 
winches  and  a  large  assortment  of  tools.  In  the  back 
of  the  room  a  big  door  led  to  another  room  on  the 
ground  floor  to  the  rear. 

"Mr.  Creighton's  is  upstairs,''  remarked  Miss  Laid- 
law,  turning  past  the  locked  door  and  going  up  a  worn 
flight  of  steps. 

"Whose  shop  is  that?"  asked  Kennedy,  indicating 
the  door. 

"I  don't  know  who  rents  these  rooms  down  here," 
she  replied. 

Up  the  stairway  we  went  to  the  second  floor.  On 
the  top  landing  stood  some  old  machinery.  In  a  little 
room  on  one  side  was  a  big  desk,  as  well  as  books,  in- 
struments, and  drawings  of  all  sorts.  Opposite  this 
room  was  another  little  room,  with  many  bits  of  ex- 
pensive machinery  on  shelves  and  tables.  Back  of 
these  two,  and  up  a  step,  was  a  large  room,  the  full 
width  of  the  building,  the  workshop  of  the  inventor, 
into  which  she  led  us. 

"I've  brought  a  couple  of  friends  of  mine  who  may 
be  interested  in  the  vibrodyne  motor,"  Miss  Laidlaw 
introduced  us. 

"Very  pleased  to  meet  you,  gentlemen,"  Creighton 
returned.  "Before  we  get  through,  I  think  you'll 


THE  DEMON  ENGINE  235 

agree  with  me  that  you  never  dreamed  of  anything 
more  wonderful  than  this  motor  of  mine. ' ' 

He  was  a  large,  powerfully  built  man,  with  a  huge 
head,  square  jaw  with  heavy  side  whiskers,  and  eyes 
that  moved  restlessly  under  a  shock  of  iron-gray  hair. 
Whether  it  was  the  actual  size  of  his  head  or  his 
bushy  hair,  one  got  the  impression  that  his  cranium 
housed  a  superabundant  supply  of  brains. 

Every  action  was  nervous  and  quick.  Even  his 
speech  was  rapid,  as  though  his  ideas  outstripped  his 
tongue.  He  impressed  one  as  absorbed  in  this  thing 
which  he  said  frankly  had  been  his  life  study,  every 
nerve  strained  to  make  it  succeed  and  convince  people. 

"Just  what  is  this  force  you  call  vibrodyne?" 
asked  Craig,  gazing  about  at  the  curious  litter  of  para- 
phernalia in  the  shop. 

"Of  course,  I'm  willing  to  admit,"  began  Creigh- 
ton  quickly,  in  the  tone  of  a  man  who  was  used  to 
showing  his  machine  to  skeptical  strangers  but  must 
be  allowed  to  explain  it  in  his  own  way,  "that  never 
before  by  any  mechanical,  electrical,  thermal,  or  other 
means  has  a  self -moving  motor  been  made. ' ' 

He  paused  apparently  to  let  us  grasp  the  signifi- 
cance of  what  he  was  about  to  say.  "But,  is  it  im- 
possible, as  some  of  the  old  scientists  have  proved  to 
their  own  satisfaction  it  must  be?"  he  went  on,  warm- 
ing up  to  his  subject.  "May  there  not  be  molecular, 
atomic,  even  ionic  forces  of  which  we  have  not 
dreamed?  You  have  only  to  go  back  a  few  years  and 
study  radioactivity,  for  instance,  to  see  how  ideas  may 
change. 

"Today,"  he  added  emphatically,  "the  conserva- 
tion of  energy,  in  the  old  sense  at  least,  has  been 


236  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

overthrown.  Gentlemen,  all  the  old  laws  must  be 
modified  by  my  discovery  of  vibrodyne.  I  loose  new 
new  forces — I  create  energy!" 

I  watched  him  narrowly  as  he  proposed  and  rapidly 
answered  his  own  questions.  He  was  talking  quite  as 
much  for  Miss  Laidlaw's  benefit,  I  thought,  as  ours. 
In  fact,  it  was  evident  that  her  interest  in  the  machine 
and  in  himself  pleased  him  greatly. 

I  knew  already  that  though  the  search  after  per- 
petual motion  through  centuries  had  brought  failure, 
still  it  captivated  a  certain  type  of  inventive  mind.  I 
knew  also  that,  just  as  the  exact  squaring  of  the  circle 
and  the  transmutation  of  metals  brought  out  some 
great  mathematical  discoveries  and  much  of  modern 
chemistry,  so  perpetual  motion  had  brought  out  the 
greatest  of  all  generalizations  of  physics — the  conser- 
vation of  energy. 

Yet  here  was  a  man  who  questioned  the  infallibility 
of  that  generalization.  Actually  taking  the  ultra- 
modern view  that  matter  is  a  form  of  energy,  he  was 
asserting  that  energy  in  some  way  might  be  created 
or  destroyed,  at  least  transformed  in  a  manner  that 
no  one  had  ever  understood  before.  To  him,  radio- 
activity which  had  overthrown  or  amplified  many  of 
the  old  ideas  was  only  a  beginning. 

"Here  is  the  machine,"  he  pointed  out  at  last,  still 
talking,  leading  us  proudly  across  the  littered  floor  of 
his  laboratory. 

It  seemed,  at  first  glance,  to  consist  of  a  circular 
iron  frame,  about  a  foot  and  a  half  in  diameter, 
firmly  bolted  to  the  floor. 

"I  have  it  fastened  down  because,  as  you  will  see,  it 
develops  such  a  tremendous  power,"  explained  the 


THE  DEMON  ENGINE  237 

inventor,  adding,  as  he  pointed  above  it,  "That  is  all 
the  power  is  developed  from,  too." 

On  a  shelf  was  a  Daniell  battery  of  four  cells.  In 
the  porous  cup  was  bichromate  of  potash  and  in  the 
outer  vessel  dilute  sulphuric  acid. 

"Let  me  show  you  how  I  get  two  and  a  half  horse- 
power out  of  three  ounces  of  zinc  for  nine  hours," 
went  on  Creighton  proudly.  ' '  As  you  doubtless  know, 
the  usual  thing  is  one  horsepower  per  pound  of  zinc 
per  hour.  Ultimately,  I  expect  to  perfect  the  process 
until  I  get  a  thousand  horsepower  from  an  ounce  in 
this  vibrodyne  motor." 

He  started  the  engine  by  attaching  the  wires  from 
the  comparatively  weak  Daniell  cells.  Slowly  it  began 
to  move,  gaining  speed,  until  finally  the  very  floor 
shook  from  the  great  power  and  the  rapidity  of  the 
motion. 

It  seemed  incredible  that  the  small  current  from  the 
battery  should  develop  such  apparent  power  and  I 
looked  at  Kennedy  in  amazement. 

"There's  a  carelessly — or  purposely — ill-balanced 
flywheel,  I  suspect,"  whispered  Craig  to  me  surrep- 
titiously. 

"Yes,  but  the  power,"  I  persisted. 

He  shook  his  head.  Evidently  he  was  not  con- 
vinced, but  had  no  theory,  yet. 

Adele  Laidlaw  looked  at  Craig  questioningly,  as 
though  to  read  what  he  thought  of  it.  Before  her  he 
betrayed  nothing.  Now  and  then  she  would  look 
earnestly  at  Creighton.  It  was  evident  that  she  ad- 
mired him  very  much,  yet  there  seemed  to  be  some- 
thing about  him  that  she  did  not  quite  understand. 

Just  then  the  telephone  rang.     Creighton  stopped 


238  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

his  machine  and  left  us  for  a  moment  to  answer  the 
call,  while  the  engine  slowed  down  and  came  to  rest. 

Quickly  Kennedy  pulled  out  his  watch  and  pried 
the  crystal  off  the  face.  He  walked  over  to  a  basin 
and  filled  the  crystal  with  a  few  drops  of  water.  Then 
he  set  it  down  on  the  table. 

I  looked  at  it  closely.  As  nearly  as  I  could  make 
out,  there  seemed  to  be  a  slight  agitation  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  thin  film  of  water  in  the  glass.  Craig 
smiled  quietly  to  himself  and  flicked  the  water  into 
the  sink,  returning  the  crystal  to  his  watch. 

I  did  not  understand  just  what  it  was  that  Craig 
was  after,  but  I  felt  sure  that  there  was  some  kind  of 
vibration  that  he  had  discovered. 

Meanwhile,  we  could  hear  Creighton  telephoning 
and  I  noticed  that  Miss  Laidlaw  was  alertly  listening, 
too. 

"Why,  no,"  I  heard  him  answer  monosyllabically 
but  in  a  tone  that  was  carefully  modulated,  "not 
alone.  Let  me  call  you  up — soon." 

The  conversation  ended  almost  as  abruptly  as  it 
had  begun.  Somehow,  it  seemed  evident  to  me  that 
Creighton  had  been  talking  to  a  woman.  Though  he 
apparently  had  not  wanted  to  say  anything  before  us, 
he  could  not  disguise  the  fact.  From  his  quick,  nerv- 
ous manner  with  us,  I  had  concluded  that  no  mere 
man  could  have  commanded  so  deferential  a  tone 
from  him. 

A  moment  later  he  rejoined  us,  resuming  his  praises 
of  his  motor.  By  this  time  I  had  come  to  recognize 
that  he  was  a  master  in  the  manipulation  of  fan- 
tastic terms,  which  I,  at  least,  did  not  understand. 
Therein,  perhaps,  lay  their  potency,  though  I  doubt 


THE  DEMON  ENGINE  239 

whether  Kennedy  himself  knew  what  Creighton  meant 
when  he  talked  of  "polar  sympathy,"  "inter-atomic 
ether,"  "molecular  disintegration,"  and  "orbitic 
chaos. ' ' 

I  saw  that  Adele  Laidlaw  was  watching  Creighton 
narrowly  now.  Was  it  on  account  of  the  telephone 
call?  Who  had  it  been?  Perhaps,  it  occurred  to  me, 
it  was  Mrs.  Barry.  Was  Creighton  afraid  of  arousing 
the  jealousy  of  Adele  Laidlaw? 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing  more  of  importance 
that  Craig  could  learn  at  present  and  we  soon  bade 
Creighton  good-by,  leaving  with  Miss  Laidlaw.  I 
noticed  that  he  locked  the  door  after  us  as  we  went 
out. 

"I'd  like  to  meet  this  Mrs.  Barry,"  remarked  Craig 
as  we  passed  out  of  the  building. 

He  said  it  evidently  to  see  just  how  Missi  Laidlaw 
would  take  it.  "I  think  I  can  arrange  that,"  replied 
Adele  Laidlaw  colorlessly.  "I'll  ask  her  to  visit  me 
this  afternoon.  You  can  call  casually." 

We  accompanied  her  to  her  car,  promising  to  re- 
port as  soon  as  possible  if  we  discovered  anything 
new. 

"I'm  going  in  to  call  on  Tresham,"  remarked 
Craig,  turning  into  the  Bank  Building. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  ELECTROLYSIS  CLEW 

As  Kennedy  walked  through  the  corridor  of  the 
building,  he  paused  and  bent  down,  as  though  ex- 
amining the  wall.  I  looked,  too.  There  was  a  crack 
in  the  concrete,  in  the  side  wall  toward  the  Creighton 
laboratory. 

"Do  you  suppose  vibration  caused  it?"  I  asked, 
remembering  his  watch  crystal  test. 

Craig  shook  his  head.  "The  vibrations  in  a  build- 
ing can  be  shown  by  a  watch  glass  full  of  water.  You 
saw  the  surface  of  the  liquid  with  its  minute  waves. 
There's  vibration,  all  right,  but  that  is  not  the  cause 
of  such  cracks  as  these." 

He  stood  for  a  moment  regarding  the  crack  atten- 
tively. On  the  floor  on  which  we  were  was  the  Con- 
solidated Bank  itself.  Beneath  us  were  the  Consoli- 
dated Safety  Deposit  vaults. 

"What  did  cause  them,  then?"  I  asked,  mystified. 

"Apparently  escaping  currents  of  electricity  are 
causing  electrolysis  of  the  Bank  Building,"  he  re- 
plied, his  face  wrinkled  in  thought. 

"Electrolysis?"  I  repeated  mechanically. 

"Yes.  I  suppose  you  know  how  stray  or  vagrant 
currents  affect  steel  and  concrete  ? ' ' 

I  shook  my  head  in  the  negative. 

"Well,"  he  explained  as  we  stood  there,  "I  believe 
that  in  one  government  test  at  least  it  was  shown 

240 


THE  ELECTROLYSIS  CLEW  241 

that  when  an  electric  current  of  high  voltage  passes 
from  steel  to  concrete,  the  latter  is  cracked  and 
broken.  Often  a  mechanical  pressure  as  great  as  four 
or  five  thousand  pounds  a  square  inch  is  exerted  and 
there  is  rapid  destruction  due  to  the  heating  effect  of 
the  current." 

I  expressed  my  surprise  at  what  he  had  discovered. 
' '  The  danger  is  easily  overestimated, ' '  he  hastened  to 
add.  ' '  But  in  this  case  I  think  it  is  real,  though  prob- 
ably it  is  a  special  and  extreme  condition.  Still  it  is 
special  and  extreme  conditions  which  we  are  in  the 
habit  of  encountering  in  our  cases,  Walter.  That  is 
what  we  must  be  looking  out  for.  In  this  instance  the 
destruction  due  to  electrolysis  is  most  likely  caused  by 
the  oxidation  of  the  iron  anode.  The  oxides  which  are 
formed  are  twice  as  great  in  volume  as  the  iron  was 
originally  and  the  resulting  pressure  is  what  causes 
the  concrete  to  break.  I  think  we  shall  find  that  this 
condition  will  bear  strict  watching. ' ' 

For  a  moment  Kennedy  stopped  at  the  little  office 
of  the  superintendent  of  the  building,  in  the  rear. 

''I  was  just  wondering  whether  you  had  noticed 
those  cracks  in  the  walls  down  the  corridor,"  re- 
marked Kennedy  after  a  brief  introduction. 

The  superintendent  looked  at  him  suspiciously. 
Evidently  he  feared  we  had  some  ulterior  motive, 
perhaps  represented  some  rival  building  and  might 
try  to  scare  away  his  tenants. 

"Oh,  that's  nothing,"  he  said  confidently.  "Just 
the  building  settling  a  bit — easily  fixed." 

"The  safety  vault  company  haven't  complained?" 
persisted  Kennedy,  determined  to  get  something  out 
of  the  agent. 


242  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"No  indeed,"  he  returned  confidently.  "I  guess 
they've  got  troubles  of  their  own — real  ones." 

"How's  that?"  asked  Craig,  falling  in  with  the 
man's  evident  desire  to  change  the  subject. 

"Why,  I  believe  their  alarm  system's  out  of  order," 
he  replied.  "Some  of  the  fine  wires  in  it  burnt  out, 
I  think.  Defective  wiring,  I  guess.  Oh,  they've  had 
it  patched  up,  changed  about  a  little, — it's  all  right 
now,  they  say.  But  they've  had  a  deuce  of  a  time 
with  the  alarm  ringing  at  all  sorts  of  hours,  and  not 
a  trace  of  trouble. ' ' 

I  looked  quickly  at  Craig.  Though  the  superintend- 
ent thought  he  had  been  very  clever  in  changing  the 
topic  of  conversation,  he  had  unwittingly  furnished 
us  with  another  clew.  I  could  not  ask  Craig  before 
him  and  I  forgot  to  do  so  later,  but,  to  me  at  least, 
it  seemed  as  if  this  might  be  due  to  induction  from 
the  stray  currents. 

' '  No  one  here  seems  to  have  suspected  the  Creighton 
motor,  anyhow,"  commented  Craig  to  me,  as  we 
thanked  the  superintendent  and  walked  across  to  the 
elevators. 

We  rode  up  to  Tresham's  office,  which  was  on  the 
third  floor,  on  the  side  of  the  building  toward  Creigh- 
ton's  laboratory.  In  fact  one  of  the  windows  opened 
almost  on  the  roof  of  the  brick  building  next  door. 

We  found  Tresham  in  his  office  and  he  received  us 
affably,  I  thought.  "Miss  Laidlaw  told  me  she  was 
going  to  consult  you, ' '  he  remarked  as  we  introduced 
ourselves.  "  I  'm  glad  she  did  so. ' ' 

Tresham  was  a  large,  well-built  fellow,  apparently 
athletically  inclined,  clean  shaven  with  dark  hair  that 
was  getting  very  thin.  He  seemed  quite  at  ease  as  he 


THE  ELECTROLYSIS  CLEW  243 

talked  with  us,  yet  I  could  tell  that  he  was  weighing 
us  all  the  time,  as  lawyers  will  do. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Creighton's  motor?" 
opened  Kennedy.  "You've  seen  it,  I  suppose?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  replied  quickly  and  jerkily.  "Since 
Miss  Laidlaw  became  interested  he's  been  in  here  to 
have  me  look  over  his  application  for  a  patent.  You 
know,  I  used  to  be  a  patent  lawyer  for  a  number  of 
years  until  I  decided  to  branch  out  into  general  prac- 
tice. Legally  Creighton  seems  to  be  sound  enough. 
Of  course,  you  know,  the  patent  office  won't  grant  a 
patent  on  a  machine  such  as  he  claims  without  a 
rigid  demonstration.  He  needs  money,  he  says,  for 
that.  If  his  idea  is  sound,  I  don't  see  any  reason  why 
he  shouldn't  get  a  basic  patent." 

Tresham  paused.  I  was  conscious  that  he  was  fur- 
tively watching  the  face  of  Kennedy  as  though  he 
hoped  to  learn  as  much  from  him  as  Craig  did  on  his 
part. 

"It's  the  mechanical  end  of  it  that  I  don't  under- 
stand," continued  Tresham,  after  a  pause.  "Creigh- 
ton claims  to  have  discovered  a  new  force  which  he 
calls  vibrodyne.  I  think  it  is  just  as  well  that  Miss 
Laidlaw  has  decided  to  consult  a  scientist  about  it 
before  she  puts  any  more  money  into  the  thing.  I 
can't  say  I  approve  of  her  interest  in  it — though,  of 
course,  I  know  next  to  nothing  about  it,  except  from 
the  legal  standpoint." 

"Who  is  that  Mrs.  Barry  of  whom  Miss  Laidlaw 
spoke  ? ' '  asked  Kennedy  a  moment  later. 

"I  believe  she  is  a  friend  of  Creighton's.  Somehow 
she  got  acquainted  with  Miss  Laidlaw  and  introduced 
her  to  him. ' ' 


244  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"You  know  her?"  queried  Craig  casually. 

"Oh,  yes,"  came  the  frank  reply.  "She  has  been 
in  to  see  me,  too ;  first  to  interest  me  in  the  motor,  and 
then  to  consult  me  about  various  legal  points  in  con- 
nection with  it." 

I  felt  sure  that  Tresham  was  more  than  just  a  bit 
jealous  of  his  pretty  client.  Certainly  his  tone  was 
intended  to  convey  the  impression  that  he  wished  she 
would  leave  her  affairs  in  his  hands  entirely. 

' '  You  don 't  know  anything  more  about  her — where 
she  came  from — her  connections?"  added  Craig. 

"Hardly  more  than  you  do,"  asserted  Tresham. 
"I've  only  seen  the  woman  a  few  times.  In  fact  I 
should  be  glad  to  know  more  about  her — and  about 
Creighton,  too.  I  hope  that  if  you  find  out  anything 
you'll  let  me  know  so  that  I  can  protect  Miss  Laid- 
law's  interests." 

"I  shall  do  so,"  promised  Kennedy,  rising. 

"I'll  do  the  same,"  agreed  Tresham,  extending  his 
hand.  "I  see  no  reason  why  we  shouldn't  work  to- 
gether for — my  client. ' ' 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  fact  that  Tresham 
would  have  liked  to  be  able  to  say  something  more 
intimate  than  "client."  Perhaps  he  might  have  been 
nearer  to  it  if  her  interest  in  him  had  not  been 
diverted  by  this  wonderful  motor.  At  any  rate  I 
fancied  he  had  little  love  for  Creighton.  Yet,  when  I 
reflected  afterward,  it  seemed  like  a  wide  gulf  that 
must  separate  a  comparatively  impecunious  lawyer 
from  a  wealthy  girl  like  Adele  Laidlaw. 

Kennedy  was  not  through  with  his  effort  to  learn 
something  by  a  thorough  investigation  of  the  neigh- 
borhood yet.  For  some  time  after  we  left  Tresham 's 


THE  ELECTROLYSIS  CLEW  245 

office,  he  stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  Bank  Building, 
looking  about  as  though  he  hated  to  leave  without  es- 
tablishing some  vantage  point  from  which  to  watch 
what  was  going  on  in  Creighton's  laboratory. 

"Of  course  I  can't  very  well  get  into  the  safety 
vault  under  the  bank,"  he  mused.  "I  wish  I  could." 

He  walked  past  Creighton's  without  seeing  any- 
thing happen.  The  next  building  was  a  similar  two- 
story  brick  affair.  A  sign  on  it  read,  "Studios  and 
Offices  For  Rent." 

An  idea  seemed  to  be  suggested  to  him  by  the  sign. 
He  wheeled  and  entered  the  place.  Inquiry  brought 
out  a  caretaker  who  showed  us  several  rooms  unoccu- 
pied, among  them  one  vacant  on  the  first  floor. 

Kennedy  looked  it  over  carefully,  as  though  con- 
sidering whether  it  was  just  the  place  he  wanted,  but 
ended,  as  I  knew  he  intended,  in  hiring  it. 

"I  can't  move  my  stuff  in  for  a  couple  of  days,"  he 
told  the  caretaker.  "Meanwhile,  I  may  have  the  key, 
I  suppose?" 

He  had  paid  a  good  deposit  and  the  key  was  readily 
forthcoming. 

The  hiring  of  the  ground  floor  room  accomplished 
without  exciting  suspicion,  Kennedy  and  I  made  a 
hasty  trip  up  to  his  own  laboratory,  where  he  took  a 
small  box  from  a  cabinet  and  hurried  back  to  the 
taxicab  which  had  brought  us  uptown. 

Back  again  in  the  bare  room  which  he  had  acquired, 
Craig  set  to  work  immediately  installing  a  peculiar  in- 
strument which  he  took  from  the  package. 

It  seemed  to  consist  of  two  rods  much  like  electric 
light  carbons,  fixed  horizontally  in  a  wooden  support 
with  a  spindle-shaped  bit  of  carbon  between  the  two 


246  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

ends  of  the  rods.  Wires  were  connected  with  binding 
screws  at  the  free  ends  of  the  carbon  rods. 

First  Craig  made  a  connection  with  an  electric  light 
socket  from  which  he  removed  the  bulb,  cutting  in  a 
rheostat.  Then  he  attached  the  free  wires  from  the 
carbons  to  a  sort  of  telephone  headgear  and  switched 
on  the  current. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked  curiously. 

"A  geophone,"  he  replied  simply. 

"And  what  is  a  geophone?"  I  inquired. 

"Literally  an  earth-phone,"  he  explained.  "It  18 
really  the  simplest  form  of  telephone,  applied  to  the 
earth.  You  saw  what  it  was.  Any  high  school  stu- 
dent of  physics  can  make  one,  even  with  two  or  three 
dry  batteries  in  circuit." 

"But  what  does  it  do?"  I  asked. 

"It  is  really  designed  to  detect  earth  vibrations.  All 
that  is  necessary  is  to  set  the  carbon  stick  arrange- 
ment, which  is  the  transmitter  of  this  telephone,  on 
the  floor,  place  myself  at  the  other  end  and  listen.  A 
trained  ear  can  readily  detect  rumblings.  Eeally  it 
is  doing  in  a  different  and  often  better  way  what  the 
seismograph  does.  This  instrument  is  so  sensitive  that 
it  will  record  the  slamming  of  a  cellar  door  across  the 
street.  No  one  can  go  up  those  stairs  next  door  with- 
out letting  me  know  it,  no  matter  how  cautious  he  is 
about  it." 

Craig  stood  there  some  minutes  holding  the  thing 
over  his  ears  and  listening  intently. 

"The  vibrodyne  machine  isn't  running,"  he  re- 
marked finally  after  repeated  adjustments  of  the 
geophone.  "But  someone  is  in  that  little  room  under 
Creighton's  workshop.  I  suspected  that  something 


THE  ELECTROLYSIS  CLEW  247 

was  down  there  after  that  watch  crystal  test  of  mine. 
Now  I  know  it.  I  wonder  what  the  man  is  doing?" 

There  was  no  excuse  yet,  however,  for  breaking  into 
the  room  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall  and  under 
Creighton's.  Kennedy  went  out  and  watched. 
Though  we  waited  some  time  nobody  came  out.  He 
went  back  to  our  own  room  in  the  rear  of  the  first 
floor.  Though  we  both  listened  some  time,  neither  of 
us  could  now  hear  a  sound  through  the  geophone  ex- 
cept those  made  by  passing  trolleys  and  street  vehicles. 

Inquiry  about  the  neighborhood  did  not  develop 
who  was  the  tenant  or  what  was  his  business.  In  fact 
the  results  were  just  the  reverse.  No  one  seemed  to 
know  even  the  business  conducted  there.  The  room 
back  of  the  locked  door  which  Miss  Laidlaw  had 
passed  was  shrouded  in  mystery. 

Nothing  at  all  of  any  value  was  being  recorded  by 
the  geophone  when  Kennedy  glanced  quickly  at  his 
watch.  "If  we  are  to  see  Miss  Laidlaw  and  meet  that 
Mrs.  Barry,  we  had  better  be  on  our  way,"  he  re- 
marked hurriedly. 

Miss  Laidlaw  was  living  in  a  handsome  apartment 
on  Central  Park,  West.  We  entered  and  gave  our 
cards  to  the  man  at  the  door  of  her  suite,  who  bowed 
us  into  a  little  reception  room.  We  entered  and 
waited. 

Suddenly  we  were  aware  that  someone  in  the  next 
room,  a  library,  was  talking.  Whether  we  would  or 
not  we  could  not  help  overhearing  what  was  said. 
Apparently  two  women  were  there,  and  they  were 
not  taking  care  how  loud  they  spoke. 

"Then  you  object  to  my  even  knowing  Mr.  Creigh- 
ton?"  asked  one  of  the  voices,  pausing  evidently  for 


248  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

a  reply  which  the  other  did  not  choose  to  make.  "I 
suppose  if  it  was  Mr.  Tresham  you'd  object,  too." 

There  was  something  "catty"  and  taunting  about 
the  voice.  It  was  a  hard  voice,  the  voice  of  a  woman 
who  had  seen  much  and  felt  fully  capable  of  taking 
care  of  herself  in  more. 

"You  can't  make  up  your  mind  which  one  you  care 
for  most,  then  ?  Is  that  it  ? "  pursued  the  same  voice. 
"Well,  I'll  be  a  sport.  I'll  leave  you  Creighton — if 
you  can  keep  him. ' ' 

"I  want  neither,"  broke  in  a  voice  which  I  recog- 
nized at  once  as  Adele  Laidlaw's. 

She  spoke  with  a  suppressed  emotion  which  plainly 
indicated  that  she  did  want  one  of  them. 

Just  then  the  butler  entered  with  our  cards.  We 
heard  no  more.  A  moment  later  we  were  ushered  into 
the  library. 

Mrs.  Barry  was  a  trim,  well-groomed  woman  whose 
age  was  deceptive.  I  felt  that  no  matter  what  one 
might  think  of  Miss  Laidlaw,  here  was  a  woman  whose 
very  looks  seemed  to  warn  one  to  be  on  his  guard. 
She  was  a  woman  of  the  world,  confident  in  her  own 
ability  to  take  care  of  herself. 

Adele  was  flushed  and  excited,  as  we  entered, 
though  she  was  making  a  desperate  effort  to  act  as 
though  nothing  had  happened. 

"My  friend,  Professor  Kennedy,  and  Mr.  Jame- 
son," she  introduced  us  simply,  making  no  pretense 
to  conceal  our  identity. 

Mrs.  Barry  was,  in  addition  to  her  other  accom- 
plishments, a  good  actress.  "I've  heard  a  great  deal 
about  you,  Professor,"  she  said,  extending  her  hand, 
but  not  taking  her  eyes  off  Craig's  face. 


THE  ELECTROLYSIS  CLEW  249 

Kennedy  met  her  gaze  directly.  What  did  she 
mean?  Had  she  accepted  Miss  Laidlaw's  invitation 
to  call  in  order  to  look  us  over,  knowing  that  we  had 
come  to  do  the  same? 

"Mr.  Creighton  tells  me  that  you  have  been  to  see 
his  new  motor,"  she  ventured,  even  before  any  of  us 
could  open  the  subject. 

She  seemed  to  enjoy  making  the  remark  for  the 
specific  purpose  of  rousing  Miss  Laidlaw.  It  suc- 
ceeded amply,  also.  The  implication  that  Creighton 
took  her  into  his  confidence  was  sufficient  to  cause 
Adele  Laidlaw  to  shoot  an  angry  glance  at  her. 

Mrs.  Barry  had  no  objection  to  sticking  a  knife  in 
and  turning  it  around.  "Of  course  I  don't  know  as 
much  about  such  things  as  Miss  Laidlaw, ' '  she  purred, 
"but  Mr.  Tresham  tells  me  that  there  may  be  some 
trouble  with  the  patent  office  about  allowing  the 
patent.  From  all  I  have  heard  there's  a  fortune  in 
that  motor  for  someone.  Wonderful,  isn  't  it  ? ' ' 

Even  the  mention  of  Tresham 's  name  in  the  studied 
familiarity  of  her  tone  seemed  to  increase  the  scarcely 
latent  hostility  between  the  two  women.  Kennedy,  so 
far,  had  said  nothing,  content  merely  to  observe. 

"It  appears  to  be  wonderful,"  was  all  he  said, 
guardedly. 

Mrs.  Barry  eyed  him  sharply  and  Miss  Laidlaw  ap- 
peared to  be  ill  at  ease.  Evidently  she  wanted  to 
believe  in  Creighton  and  his  motor,  yet  her  natural 
caution  forbade  her.  The  entrance  of  Kennedy  into 
the  case  seemed  to  have  proved  a  disturbing  factor 
between  the  two  women,  to  have  brought  matters  to  a 
head. 

We  chatted  for  a  few  minutes,  Kennedy  deftly  re- 


250  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

fusing  to  commit  himself  on  anything,  Mrs.  Barry 
seeking  to  lead  him  into  expressing  some  opinion,  and 
endeavoring  to  conceal  her  exasperation  as  he  avoided 
doing  so. 

At  last  Kennedy  glanced  at  his  watch,  which  re- 
minded him  of  a  mythical  appointment,  sufficient  to 
terminate  the  visit. 

"I'm  very  glad  to  have  met  you,"  he  bowed  to  Mrs. 
Barry,  as  she,  too,  rose  to  go,  while  he  preserved  the 
fiction  of  merely  having  dropped  in  to  see  Miss  Laid- 
law.  He  turned  to  her.  "I  should  be  delighted  to 
have  both  you  and  Mr.  Tresham  drop  in  at  my  labora- 
tory some  time,  Miss  Laidlaw. ' ' 

Miss  Laidlaw  caught  his  eye  and  read  in  it  that  this 
was  his  way,  under  the  circumstances,  of  asking  her 
to  keep  in  touch  with  him. 

"I  shall  do  so,"  she  promised. 

We  parted  from  Mrs.  Barry  at  the  door  of  her 
taxicab. 

"A  very  baffling  woman,"  I  remarked  a  moment 
later.  "Do  you  suppose  she  is  as  intimate  with 
Creighton  as  she  implies?" 

Kennedy  shook  his  head.  ' '  It  isn  't  that  that  inter- 
ests me  most,  just  now,"  he  replied.  "What  I  can't 
figure  out  is  Adele  Laidlaw 's  attitude  toward  both 
Creighton  and  Tresham.  She  seems  to  resent  Mrs. 
Barry's  intimacy  with  either." 

"Yes,"  I  agreed.  "Sometimes  I  have  thought  she 
really  cared  for  both — at  least,  that  she  was  unable  to 
make  up  her  mind  which  she  cared  for  most.  Off- 
hand, I  should  have  thought  that  she  was  the  sort 
who  wouldn't  think  a  man  worth  caring  much  for." 

Kennedy  shook  his  head.    "Given  a  woman,  Wai- 


THE  ELECTROLYSIS  CLEW  251 

ter,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "  whose  own  and  ances- 
tral training  has  been  a  course  of  suppression,  where 
she  has  been  taught  and  drilled  that  exhibitions  of 
emotion  and  passion  are  disgraceful,  as  I  suspect  Miss 
Laidlaw's  parents  have  believed,  and  you  have  a 
woman  whose  primitive  instincts  have  been  stored  and 
strengthened.  The  instincts  are  there,  nevertheless, 
far  back  in  the  subconscious  mind.  I  don't  think 
Adele  Laidlaw  knows  it  herself,  but  there  is  some- 
thing about  both  those  men  which  fascinates  her  and 
she  can't  make  up  her  mind  which  fascinates  her  most. 
Perhaps  they  have  the  same  qualities. ' ' 

"But  Mrs.  Barry,"  I  interrupted.  "Surely  she 
must  know." 

"I  think  she  does,"  he  returned.  "I  think  she 
knows  more  than  we  suspect. ' ' 

I  looked  at  him  quickly,  not  quite  making  out  the 
significance  of  the  remark,  but  he  said  no  more.  For 
the  present,  at  least,  he  left  Adele  Laidlaw  quite  as 
much  an  enigma  as  ever. 

"I  wish  that  you  would  make  inquiries  about  re- 
garding Mrs.  Barry,"  he  said  finally  as  we  reached 
the  subway.  "  I  'm  going  down  again  to  the  little  room 
we  hired  and  watch.  You'll  find  me  at  the  laboratory 
later  tonight. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  PERPETUAL  MOTION  MACHINE 

I  TRIED  my  best,  but  there  was  very  little  that  I 
could  find  out  about  Mrs.  Barry.  No  one  seemed  to 
know  where  she  came  from,  and  even  "Mr.  Barry " 
seemed  shrouded  in  obscurity.  I  was  convinced,  how- 
ever, that  she  was  an  adventuress. 

One  thing,  however,  I  did  turn  up.  She  had  called 
on  Tresham  at  his  office  a  number  of  times,  usually 
late  in  the  afternoon,  and  he  had  taken  her  to  dinner 
and  to  the  theater.  Apparently  he  knew  her  a  great 
deal  better  than  he  had  been  willing  to  admit  to  us.  I 
was  not  surprised,  for,  like  a  good  many  men  of  his 
class,  Tresham  was  better  known  in  the  white  light 
district  than  one  might  suspect.  Mrs.  Barry  had  all 
the  marks  of  being  good  company  on  such  an  excur- 
sion. 

On  the  way  uptown,  I  stopped  off  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Longacre  Square  in  the  hope  of  picking  up 
some  more  gossip  at  one  or  another  of  the  clubs. 
Tresham  was  a  member  of  several,  though  as  near  as  I 
could  find  out,  used  them  more  for  business  than 
social  reasons.  On  Broadway  it  was  different,  how- 
ever. There  he  was  known  as  a  liberal  spender  and 
lover  of  night  life.  Like  many  others  he  now  and 
then  accumulated  quite  large  bills.  I  wondered 
whether  Mrs.  Barry  had  not  found  out  and  taken 
advantage  of  his  weakness. 

252 


THE  PERPETUAL  MOTION  MACHINE    253 

It  was,  as  I  have  said,  comparatively  little  that  I 
had  been  able  to  discover,  yet  when  I  met  Kennedy 
again,  later  in  the  evening,  at  his  laboratory,  he  lis- 
tened eagerly  to  what  I  had  to  report. 

"Did  anything  happen  downtown?"  I  asked  when 
I  had  finished. 

"Nothing  much,"  he  returned.  "Of  course,  listen- 
ing over  the  geophone,  I  couldn't  watch  the  Bank 
Building,  too.  There's  something  very  queer  about 
Creighton.  I  could  hear  him  at  work  in  the  room 
upstairs  until  quite  late,  making  a  lot  of  noise.  If  I 
don't  find  out  anything  more  definite  soon,  I  shall 
have  to  adopt  some  other  measures. ' ' 

"You  didn't  do  anything  more  about  that  elec- 
trolysis clew?"  I  queried. 

"Nothing,"  he  replied  briefly,  "except  that  I  in- 
quired of  the  electric  light  company  and  found  out 
that  Creighton,  or  someone  in  his  building,  was  using 
a  good  deal  of  power. ' ' 

"That  looks  bad,"  I  ventured,  remembering  the 
claims  made  for  the  engine  and  the  comparatively 
weak  batteries  that  were  said  to  run  it. 

Kennedy  nodded  acquiescence,  but  said  nothing 
more.  We  walked  over  in  silence  to  our  apartment 
on  the  Heights  and  far  into  the  night  Craig  sat  there, 
shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  apparently  studying 
out  the  peculiar  features  of  the  case  and  planning 
some  new  angle  of  approach  at  it  tomorrow. 

We  were  surprised  the  next  day  to  receive  an  early 
visit  from  Miss  Laidlaw  at  the  laboratory.  She  drove 
up  before  the  Chemistry  Building,  very  much  excited, 
as  though  her  news  would  not  bear  repeating  even 
over  the  telephone. 


254  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"What  do  you  think?"  she  exclaimed,  bursting  in 
on  us.  ' '  Mr.  Creighton  has  disappeared ! ' ' 

''Disappeared?"  repeated  Kennedy.  "How  did 
you  find  it  out?" 

"Mr.  Tresham  just  telephoned  me  from  his  office," 
she  hurried  on.  ' '  He  was  going  into  the  Bank  Build- 
ing when  he  saw  a  wagon  drive  off  from  the  place 
next  door.  He  thought  it  was  strange  and  instead  of 
going  on  up  to  his  own  office  he  walked  into  Creigh- 
ton's.  When  he  tried  to  get  in,  the  place  was  locked. 
There's  a  sign  on  it,  too,  'For  Rent,'  he  says." 

"That's  strange,"  considered  Kennedy.  "I  sup- 
pose he  didn't  notice  what  kind  of  wagon  it  was?" 

"Yes,  he  said  it  looked  like  a  junk  wagon — full  of 
stuff." 

I  looked  from  Miss  Laidlaw  to  Kennedy.  Plainly 
our  entrance  into  the  case  had  been  the  signal  for  the 
flitting  of  Creighton. 

Quickly  he  reached  for  the  telephone.  "You  know 
Mrs.  Barry's  number?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  it's  the  Prince  Edward  Hotel." 

He  called  up,  but  the  conversation  was  over  in  a 
moment.  ' ' She  didn't  return  to  the  hotel  last  night, ' ' 
he  announced  as  he  hung  up  the  receiver. 

"She's  in  this  thing,  too,"  exclaimed  Adele  Laid- 
law. ' '  Can  you  go  down  with  me  now  and  meet  Mr. 
Tresham?  I  promised  I  would." 

Though  she  repressed  her  feelings,  as  usual,  I  could 
see  that  Adele  Laidlaw  was  furious.  Was  it  because 
Creighton  had  gone  off  with  her  money,  or  was  it 
pique  because  Mrs.  Barry  had,  perhaps,  won  him? 
At  any  rate,  someone  was  going  to  feel  the  fury  of  her 
scorn. 


THE  PERPETUAL  MOTION  MACHINE    255 

"We  motored  down  quickly  in  Miss  Laidlaw's  car 
and  met  Tresham,  who  was  standing  in  front  of  the 
Bank  Building  waiting  for  us. 

"It  just  happened  that  I  came  down  early  this 
morning,"  he  explained,  "or  I  shouldn't  have  noticed 
anything  out  of  the  way.  The  junk  wagon  was  just 
driving  away  as  I  came  up.  It  seemed  to  be  in  such 
a  hurry  that  it  attracted  my  attention. ' ' 

It  was  the  first  time  we  had  seen  Tresham  and 
Miss  Laidlaw  together  and  I  was  interested  to  see 
how  they  would  act.  There  was  no  mistaking  his  atti- 
tude toward  her  and  Adele  was  much  more  cordial 
to  him  than  I  had  expected. 

' '  While  I  was  waiting  I  got  a  key  from  the  agent, ' ' 
he  explained.  "But  I  didn't  want  to  go  in  until  you 
came." 

Tresham  opened  the  door  and  led  the  way  upstairs, 
Miss  Laidlaw  following  closely.  As  we  entered 
Creighton's  shop,  everything  seemed  to  be  in  the  great- 
est disorder.  Prints  and  books  were  scattered  about, 
the  tools  were  lying  about  wherever  they  happened 
to  have  been  left,  all  the  models  were  smashed  or 
missing  and  a  heap  of  papers  in  the  fireplace  showed 
where  many  plans,  letters  and  other  documents  had 
been  burned. 

"We  hurried  into  the  big  room.  Sure  enough,  the 
demon  motor  itself  was  gone !  Creighton  had  unbolted 
it  from  the  floor  and  some  holes  in  the  boards  had 
been  plugged  up.  The  room  below  was  still  locked 
and  the  windows  were  covered  with  opaque  paper  on 
the  inside. 

"What  do  you  suppose  he  has  done  with  the 
motor?"  asked  Adele. 


256  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"The  only  clew  is  a  junk  dealer  whom  we  don't 
know, ' '  I  replied,  as  Kennedy  said  nothing. 

We  looked  about  the  place  thoroughly,  but  could 
find  nothing  else.  Creighton  seemed  to  have  made  a 
clean  getaway  in  the  early  hours. 

"I  wish  I  could  stay  and  help  you,"  remarked 
Tresham  at  length.  "But  I  must  be  in  court  at  ten. 
If  there's  anything  I  can  do,  though,  call  on  me." 

"I'm  going  to  find  that  engine  if  I  have  to  visit 
every  junk  dealer  in  New  York,"  declared  Miss  Laid- 
law  soon  after  Tresham  left. 

"That's  about  all  we  can  do,  yet,  I  guess,"  re- 
marked Kennedy,  evidently  not  much  worried  about 
the  disappearance  of  the  inventor. 

Together  we  three  closed  up  the  workshop  and 
started  out  with  a  list  from  a  trade  publication  giving 
all  those  who  dealt  in  scrap  iron  and  old  metal.  In 
fact  we  spent  most  of  the  day  going  from  one  to 
another  of  the  junk  shops.  I  never  knew  that  there 
•  were  so  many  dealers  in  waste.  They  seemed  to  be  all 
over  the  city  and  in  nearly  every  section.  It  was  a 
tremendous  job,  but  we  mapped  it  out  so  that  we 
worked  our  way  from  one  section  to  another. 

We  had  got  as  far  as  the  Harlem  River  when  we 
entered  one  place  and  looked  about  while  we  waited 
for  someone  in  charge  to  appear. 

I  heard  a  low  exclamation  from  Kennedy,  and 
turned  to  look  in  the  direction  he  indicated.  There, 
in  a  wagon  from  which  the  horse  had  been  unhitched, 
was  the  heavy  base  of  the  engine  into  which  so  many 
dollars  had  been  turned — sold  as  so  much  scrap ! 

Kennedy  examined  it  quickly,  while  I  questioned  a 
man  who  appeared  from  behind  a  shed  in  the  rear.  It 


THE  PERPETUAL  MOTION  MACHINE   257 

was  useless.  He  could  give  no  clew  that  we  already 
could  not  guess.  He  had  just  bought  it  from  a  man 
who  seemed  anxious  to  get  rid  of  it.  His  description 
of  the  man  tallied  with  Creighton.  But  that  was  all. 
It  gave  us  no  chance  to  trace  him. 

"Look,"  exclaimed  Kennedy  eagerly,  bending 
closer  over  the  motor.  "This  is  one  of  the  neatest 
perpetual  motion  frauds  I  ever  heard  of. ' ' 

He  had  turned  the  heavy  base  of  the  motor  up- 
ward. One  glance  left  me  with  little  wonder  why 
Creighton  had  so  carefully  bolted  the  machine  to  the 
floor.  In  the  base  were  two  rectangular  apertures  to 
allow  a  belt  to  run  over  a  concealed  pulley  on  the 
main  shaft  of  the  machine  in  the  case.  Evidently, 
when  the  circuit  from  the  Daniell  cells  was  closed,  the 
pulley,  somehow,  was  thrown  into  gear.  It  was  loose 
and  the  machine  began  to  revolve  slowly  at  first,  then 
faster  and  with  great  show  of  power.  The  pounding, 
as  Kennedy  had  surmised,  was  due  to  the  flywheel  not 
well  balanced. 

"Well,"  I  remarked,  "now  that  we  have  found  it, 
I  don't  see  that  it  does  us  much  good." 

' '  Only  that  we  understand  it, ' '  returned  Craig.  ' '  I 
left  that  geophone  down  there  in  the  room  next  door 
which  I  hired.  I  think,  if  Miss  Laidlaw  will  take  us 
down  there,  I'd  like  to  get  it." 

He  spoke  with  a  sort  of  easy  confidence  which  I 
knew  was  hard  to  be  assumed  in  the  face  of  what 
looked  like  defeat.  Had  Craig  deliberately  let  Creigh- 
ton have  a  chance  to  get  away,  in  order  that  he  might 
convict  himself? 

In  silence,  with  Miss  Laidlaw  at  the  wheel,  we 
went  downtown  again  to  the  room  which  Craig  had 


258  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

hired   next  to    Creighton's   workshop.     As   we   ap- 
proached it,  he  leaned  over  to  Miss  Laidlaw. 

' '  Stop  around  the  corner, ' '  he  asked.  ' '  Let 's  go  in 
quietly." 

We  entered  our  bare  little  room  and  Kennedy  set 
to  work  as  though  to  detach  the  geophone,  while  I 
explained  it  to  our  client. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  interrupted  in  the  mid- 
dle of  my  explanation,  indicating  Kennedy. 

He  had  paused  and  had  placed  the  receivers  to  his 
ears.  By  his  expression  I  knew  that  the  instrument 
was  registering  something. 

"Someone  is  in  the  lower  room  of  the  shop  next 
door, ' '  he  answered,  facing  us  quickly.  ' '  If  we  hurry, 
we'll  have  him  cornered." 

Miss  Laidlaw  and  I  went  out  and  around  in  front, 
while  Craig  dashed  through  a  back  door  to  cut  off 
retreat  that  way. 

"What's  that?    Hurry!"  exclaimed  Miss  Laidlaw. 

Plainly  there  was  a  muffled  scream  of  a  woman  as 
we  entered  the  street  door.  I  hurried  forward.  It 
was  the  work  of  only  a  few  seconds  to  batter  down 
the  locked  door  in  the  room  under  Creighton's  old 
workshop,  and  as  the  door  gave  way,  I  heard  the 
sound  of  shattered  glass  from  the  rear  which  told  that 
Kennedy  had  heard  the  scream,  too,  and  had  gained 
an  entrance. 

Inside  I  could  make  out  in  the  half-light  a  man  and 
a  woman.  The  woman  was  running  toward  me,  as 
if  for  help. 

"Mrs.  Barry!"  gasped  Adele  Laidlaw. 

"He  got  me  here — to  kill  me!"  she  cried  hysteric- 
ally. "I  am  the  only  one  who  knows  the  truth — it 


THE  PERPETUAL  MOTION  MACHINE    259 

was  the  last  day — tonight  he  would  have  had  the 
money — and  I  would  have  been  out  of  the  way.  But 
I  '11  expose  him — I  '11  ruin  him.  See — he  came  in  from 
thereof—" 

A  blinding  flash  of  light  greeted  us,  followed  by  a 
scream  from  Adele  Laidlaw,  as  she  ran  past  us  and 
dropped  on  her  knees  beside  a  body  that  had  fallen 
with  a  thud  in  the  flame  before  a  yawning  hole  in  the 
side  wall. 

Mrs.  Barry  ran  past  me,  back  again,  at  almost  the 
same  moment.  It  was  a  strange  sight — these  two 
women  glaring  at  each  other  over  the  prostrate  figure 
of  the  man. 

"Here's  the  real  demon  engine,"  panted  Craig, 
coming  up  from  the  back  and  pointing  to  an  electric 
motor  as  well  as  other  apparatus  consisting  of  several 
series  of  coils.  "The  perpetual  motion  machine  was 
just  a  fake.  It  was  merely  a  cover  to  an  attempt  to 
break  into  the  bank  vaults  by  electrolysis  of  the  steel 
and  concrete.  Creighton  was  a  dummy,  a  fiction — 
to  take  the  blame  and  disappear  when  the  robbery  was 
discovered. ' ' 

' '  Creighton, ' '  I  repeated,  looking  at  the  man  on  the 
floor,  "a  dummy?" 

"Oh— he's  dead!"  wailed  Adele  Laidlaw.  "He's 
dead!" 

"Electrocuted  by  his  own  machine  rather  than  face 
disgrace  and  disbarment,"  cut  in  Craig.  "No  won- 
der she  was  in  doubt  which  of  the  two  men  fascinated 
her  most. ' ' 

I  moved  forward  and  bent  over  the  contorted  form 
of  the  lawyer,  Tresham,  who  was  wearing  the  whiskers 
and  iron  gray  wier  of  his  alter-ego,  Creighton. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  CANCER  HOUSE 

" YOU'VE  heard  of  such  things  as  cancer  houses,  I 
suppose,  Professor  Kennedy?" 

It  was  early  in  the  morning  and  Craig's  client, 
Myra  Moreton,  as  she  introduced  herself,  had  been 
waiting  at  the  laboratory  door  in  a  state  of  great  agi- 
tation as  we  came  up.  Just  because  her  beautiful  face 
was  pale  and  haggard  with  worry,  she  was  a  pathetic 
figure,  as  she  stood  there,  dressed  in  deep  mourning, 
the  tears  standing  in  her  eyes  merely  because  we  were 
a  little  later  than  usual. 

' '  Well, ' '  she  hurried  on  as  she  dropped  into  a  chair, 
"that  is  what  they  are  calling  that  big  house  of  ours 
at  Norwood — a  cancer  house,  if  there  is  such  a  thing. ' ' 

Clearly,  Myra  Moreton  was  a  victim  of  nervous 
prostration.  She  had  asked  the  question  with  a  hectic 
eagerness,  yet  had  not  waited  for  an  answer. 

"Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "you  do  not,  you  cannot  know 
what  it  means  to  have  something  like  this  constantly 
hanging  over  you.  Think  of  it — five  of  us  have  died  in 
less  than  five  years.  It  haunts  me.  Who  next.  That 
is  all  I  can  think  about.  Who  next?" 

Her  first  agitation  had  been  succeeded  by  a  calm- 
ness of  despair,  almost  of  fatalism,  which  was  worse 
for  her  than  letting  loose  her  pent-up  emotions. 

I  had  heard  of  cases  of  people  in  whom  there  was 
no  record  of  hereditary  predisposition  to  cancer,  peo- 

260 


THE  CANCER  HOUSE  261 

pie  apparently  in  perfect  health,  who  had  moved  into 
houses  where  cancer  patients  had  lived  and  died  and 
had  themselves  developed  the  disease.  Though  I  had, 
of  course,  never  even  remotely  experienced  such  a  feel- 
ing as  she  described,  I  could  well  fancy  what  it  must 
be  to  her. 

Kennedy  watched  her  sympathetically.  ''But  why 
do  you  come  to  me?"  he  asked  gently.  "Don't  you 
think  a  cancer  specialist  would  be  more  likely  to  help 
you?" 

"A  specialist?"  she  repeated  with  a  peculiar  hope- 
lessness. "Professor  Kennedy,  five  years  ago,  when 
my  Uncle  Frank  was  attacked  by  cancer,  father  was 
so  foolish  as  to  persuade  him  to  consult  a  specialist 
whose  advertisement  he  saw  in  the  papers,  a  Dr.  Adam 
Loeb  on  Forty-second  Street  here  in  New  York. 
Specialist!  Oh,  I'm  worried  sick  every  time  I  have 
a  sore  or  anything  like  this  on  my  neck  or  anywhere 
else." 

She  had  worked  herself  from  her  unnatural  calm 
almost  into  a  state  of  hysterics  as  she  displayed  a  little 
sore  on  her  delicate  white  throat. 

"That?"  reassured  Kennedy.  "Oh,  that  may  be 
nothing  but  a  little  boil.  But  this  Dr.  Loeb — he  must 
be  a  quack.  No  doctor  who  advertises — " 

"Perhaps,"  she  interrupted.  "That  is  what  Dr. 
Goode  out  at  Norwood  tells  me.  But  father  has  faith 
in  him,  even  has  him  at  the  house  sometimes.  I  cannot 
bear  the  sight  of  him.  Since  I  first  saw  him  my  uncle, 
his  wife,  another  aunt,  my  cousin  have  died,  and  then, 
last  week,  my — my  mother." 

Her  voice  broke,  but  with  a  great  effort  she  managed 
to  get  herself  together.  "Now  I — I  fear  that  my 


262  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

father  may  go  next.  Perhaps  it  will  strike  me — or  my 
brother,  Lionel — who  can  tell  ?  Think  of  it — the  whole 
family  wiped  out  by  this  terrible  thing.  Can  it  be 
natural,  I  ask  myself?  Is  there  not  something  back 
of  it?" 

"Who  is  this  Dr.  Loeb?"  asked  Kennedy,  more  for 
the  purpose  of  aiding  her  in  giving  vent  to  her  feel- 
ings than  anything  else. 

"He  is  a  New  York  doctor,"  she  reiterated.  "I  be- 
lieve he  claims  to  have  a  sure  cure  for  cancer,  by  the 
use  of  radium  and  such  means.  My  father  has  abso- 
lute confidence  in  him — visits  him  at  his  office  and,  as 
I  told  you,  even  has  him  at  Norwood.  In  fact  they 
are  quite  friendly.  So  was  Lionel  until  lately. ' ' 

"What  happened  to  shake  your  brother's  faith?" 
asked  Craig. 

"Nothing,  I  imagine,  except  that  Lionel  began 
thinking  it  over  after  someone  told  him  about  can- 
cer houses.  You  must  admit  yourself  that  it  is — at 
least  strange.  I  wish  you  could  see  Lionel.  He  knows 
more  about  it  than  I  do.  Or  Dr.  Goode.  I  think  he 
has  made  some  kind  of  test.  He  could  tell  you  much 
better  than  I  can  all  the  strange  history.  But  they 
don't  agree — Lionel  and  Gail.  Oh — it  is  more  than  I 
can  stand.  What  shall  I — " 

She  had  fainted.  In  an  instant  I  was  at  her  side, 
helping  Kennedy  bring  her  around. 

"There,  there,"  soothed  Kennedy  several  minutes 
later  as  her  deep  eyes  looked  at  him  appealingly. 
"Perhaps,  after  all,  there  may  be  something  I  can  do. 
If  I  should  go  out  to  Norwood  with  you  as  soon  as  you 
feel  better,  wouldn't  that  be  all  right?" 

"Oh — will  you?"  she  cried,  overjoyed.     "If  you 


THE  CANCER  HOUSE  263 

would — how  could  I  ever  thank  you?  I  feel  better. 
No — don 't  stop  me.  I  Ve  been  living  on  nerve.  I  can 
do  more.  Please — let  me  telephone  Lionel  that  we  are 
coming. ' ' 

Kennedy  humored  her,  although  I  knew  he  had  sev- 
eral important  investigations  going  on  at  the  time.  It 
was  scarcely  an  hour  before  we  were  on  the  train  and 
in  the  early  forenoon  we  were  met  by  her  brother  at 
the  station  in  a  light  car. 

Through  the  beautiful  streets  of  the  quaint  old  Con- 
necticut town  we  rode  until  at  last  we  stopped  before 
a  great  stone  house  which  had  been  the  Moreton  man- 
sion for  several  generations. 

It  was  a  double  house,  a  gloomy  sort  of  place,  sur- 
rounded by  fir  trees,  damp  and  suggestive  of  decay. 
I  could  not  help  feeling  that  if  ever  there  were  a  house 
about  which  I  could  associate  the  story  which  Myra 
had  poured  forth,  this  was  it.  Somehow,  to  me  at 
least,  it  had  all  the  mystery  of  being  haunted. 

Darius  Moreton,  her  father,  happened  to  be  at  home 
to  lunch  when  we  arrived.  He  was  a  man  past  middle 
age.  Like  his  father  and  grandfather,  he  was  a  manu- 
facturer of  optical  goods  and  had  increased  the  busi- 
ness very  well.  But,  like  many  successful  business 
men,  he  was  one  of  those  who  are  very  positive,  with 
whom  one  cannot  argue. 

Myra  introduced  Kennedy  as  interested  in  cause 
and  treatment  of  cancer,  and  especially  in  the  tracing 
down  of  a  definite  case  of  a  ''cancer  house." 

"No,"  he  shook  his  head  grimly,  "I'm  afraid  it  is 
heredity.  My  friend,  Dr.  Loeb,  is  the  only  one  who 
understands  it.  I  have  the  most  absolute  confidence 
in  him." 


264  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

He  said  it  in  a  way  that  seemed  to  discourage  all 
argument.  Kennedy  did  not  antagonize  him  by  dis- 
agreeing, but  turned  to  Lionel,  who  was  a  rather  in- 
teresting type  of  young  man.  Son  of  Darius  Moreton 
by  his  first  wife,  Lionel  had  gone  to  the  scientific 
school  as  had  his  father  and,  graduating,  had  taken 
up  the  business  of  the  Moreton  family  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

Myra  seemed  overcome  by  the  journey  to  the  city  to 
see  Kennedy  and,  after  a  light  luncheon,  Lionel  under- 
took to  talk  to  us  and  show  us  through  the  house.  It 
was  depressing,  almost  ghastly,  to  think  of  the  slow 
succession  of  tragedies  which  these  walls  had  wit- 
nessed. 

"This  is  a  most  unusual  case,"  commented  Craig 
thoughtfully  as  Lionel  went  over  briefly  the  family 
history.  "If  it  can  be  authenticated  that  this  is  a 
cancer  house,  I  am  sure  the  medical  profession  will  be 
interested,  for  they  seem  to  be  divided  into  two  camps 
on  the  question." 

"Authenticated?"  hastened  Lionel.  "Well,  take 
the  record.  First  there  was  my  Uncle  Frank,  who  was 
father's  partner  in  the  factory.  He  died  just  about 
five  years  ago  at  the  age  of  fifty-one.  That  same  year 
his  wife,  my  Aunt  Julia,  died.  She  was  just  forty- 
eight.  Then  my  other  aunt,  Fanny,  father's  sister, 
died  of  cancer  of  the  throat.  She  was  rather  older, 
fifty-four.  Not  quite  two  years  afterward  my  cousin, 
George,  son  of  Uncle  Frank,  died.  He  was  several 
years  younger  than  I,  twenty-nine.  Finally  my  step- 
mother died,  last  week.  She  was  forty-nine.  So,  I 
suppose  we  may  be  pardoned  if,  somehow,  in  spite  of 
the  fact,  as  you  say,  that  many  believe  that  the  disease 


THE  CANCER  HOUSE  265 

is  not  contagious  or  infectious  or  whatever  you  call  it, 
we  believe  that  it  lurks  in  the  house.  Myra  and  I 
would  get  out  tomorrow,  only  father  insists  that  there 
is  nothing  in  it,  says  it  is  all  heredity.  I  don't  know 
but  that  that's  worse.  That  means  that  there  is  no 
escape." 

We  had  come  down  the  wide  staircase  into  the 
library,  where  we  joined  Myra,  who  was  resting  on  a 
chaise-longue. 

"I  should  like  very  much  to  have  a  talk  with  Dr. 
Goode,"  suggested  Craig. 

"By  all  means,"  agreed  Myra  eagerly.  "I'll  gG 
over  to  his  office  with  you.  It  is  only  next  door. ' ' 

"Then  I'll  wait  here,"  said  Lionel,  rather  curtly,  I 
thought. 

I  fancied  that  there  was  a  coolness  that  amounted 
to  a  latent  hostility  between  Lionel  and  Dr.  Goode, 
and  I  wondered  about  it. 

Across  the  sparse  lawn  that  struggled  up  under  the 
deep  shade  of  the  trees  stood  a  smaller,  less  pretentious 
house  of  a  much  more  modern  type.  That  was  where 
Dr.  Goode  lived. 

We  crossed  with  Myra  through  a  break  in  the  hedge 
between  the  two  houses.  As  we  were  about  to  pass 
between  the  two  grounds,  Kennedy 's  foot  kicked  some- 
thing that  seemed  to  have  rolled  down  from  some  rub- 
bish on  the  boundary  line  of  the  two  properties,  piled 
up  evidently  waiting  to  be  carted  away. 

Craig  stooped  casually  and  picked  the  object  up.  It 
was  a  queer  V-shaped  little  porcelain  cone.  He  gave  it 
a  hasty  look,  then  dropped  it  into  his  pocket. 

Dr.  Goode,  into  whose  office  Myra  led  us,  was  a 
youngish  man,  smooth-shaven,  the  type  of  the  new 


266  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

generation  of  doctors.  He  had  come  to  Norwood  sev- 
eral years  before  and  had  struggled  up  to  a  very  fair 
practice. 

"Miss  Moreton  tells  me,"  began  Kennedy  after  we 
had  been  introduced,  "that  there  is  a  theory  that 
theirs  is  one  of  these  so-called  cancer  houses. ' ' 

The  doctor  looked  at  us  keenly.  ' '  Yes, ' '  he  nodded, 
"I  have  heard  that  theory  expressed — and  others,  too. 
Of  course,  I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  verify  it.  But  I 
may  say  that,  privately,  I  am  hardly  prepared  to 
accept  it,  yet,  as  a  case  of  cancer  house. ' ' 

He  was  very  guarded  in  his  choice  of  words,  but 
did  not  succeed  in  covering  up  the  fact  that  he  had  a 
theory  of  his  own. 

I  was  watching  both  the  young  doctor  and  Myra. 
She  had  entered  his  office  in  a  way  that  suggested  that 
she  was  something  more  than  a  patient.  As  I  watched 
them,  it  did  not  take  one  of  very  keen  perception  to 
discover  that  they  were  on  very  intimate  terms  indeed 
and  thought  very  highly  of  each  other.  A  glance  at 
the  solitaire  on  Myra's  finger  convinced  me.  They 
were  engaged. 

"You  don't  believe  it,  then?"  asked  Craig  quickly. 

The  young  man  hesitated  and  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders. 

"You  have  a  theory  of  your  own?"  persisted  Craig, 
determined  to  get  an  answer. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  have  or  not,"  he  replied 
non-committally. 

"Is  it  that  you  think  it  possible  to  produce  cancer 
artificially  and  purposely?"  shot  out  Craig. 

Dr.  Goode  considered.  I  wondered  whether  he  had 
any  suspicions  of  which  he  would  not  speak  because 


THE  CANCER  HOUSE  267 

of  professional  ethics.  Kennedy  had  fixed  his  eyes  on 
him  sharply  and  the  doctor  seemed  uneasy  under  the 
scrutiny. 

"I've  heard  of  cases,"  he  ventured  finally,  "where 
X-rays  and  radium  have  caused  cancerous  growths. 
You  know  several  of  the  experimenters  have  lost  their 
lives  in  that  way — martyrs  to  science." 

I  could  not  help,  somehow  or  other,  thinking  of  Dr. 
Loeb.  Did  Dr.  Goode  refer  indirectly  to  him?  Loeb 
certainly  was  no  martyr  to  science.  He  might  be  a 
charlatan.  But  was  he  a  scientific  villain? 

"That  may  all  be  true,"  pursued  Craig  relentlessly, 
evidently  bound  to  draw  the  young  man  out.  "But  it 
is,  after  all,  a  question  of  fact,  not  of  opinion. ' ' 

Myra  was  looking  at  him  eagerly  now  and  the  doctor 
saw  that  she  expected  him  to  speak.  It  was  more 
pressure  than  he  could  resist. 

"I  have  long  suspected  something  of  the  sort,"  he 
remarked  in  a  low,  forced  tone.  "I've  had  samples  of 
the  blood  of  the  Moretons  examined.  In  fact  I  have 
found  that  their  blood  affects  the  photographic  plate 
through  a  layer  of  black  paper.  You  know  red  blood 
cells  and  serum  have  a  distinct  power  of  reducing 
photo-silver  on  plates  when  exposed  to  certain  radia- 
tions. In  other  words,  I  have  found  that  their  blood  is, 
apparently,  radioactive ! ' ' 

Myra  looked  at  him  aghast.  It  was  evidently  the 
first  time  he  had  said  anything  about  this  new  sus- 
picion, even  to  her.  The  very  idea  was  shocking. 
Could  it  be  that  someone  was  using  these  new  forces 
with  devilish  ingenuity? 

"If  that's  the  case,  who  would  be  the  most  likely 
person  to  do  such  a  thing?"  shot  out  Craig. 


268  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"I  wouldn't  like  to  say,"  he  returned,  dodging, 
though  we  were  all  thinking  of  Dr.  Loeb. 

"But  the  motive?''  demanded  Craig.  "What  mo- 
tive would  there  be  ? " 

"Darius  Moreton  is  very  intimate  with  a  certain 
person,"  he  returned  enigmatically.  "It  is  even  re- 
ported in  town  that  he  has  left  that  person  a  large  sum 
of  money  in  his  will  in  payment  for  his  services,  if 
you  call  them  so,  to  the  family. ' ' 

He  had  evidently  not  intended  to  say  so  much  and, 
although  Craig  tried  in  every  way,  he  could  not  get 
the  doctor  to  amplify  what  he  had  hinted  at. 

We  returned  to  the  Moreton  house,  Kennedy  appar- 
ently much  impressed  by  what  Dr.  Goode  had  said. 

' '  If  you  will  permit  me, ' '  he  asked,  ' '  I  should  like 
to  have  a  few  drops  of  blood  from  each  of  you. ' ' 

' '  Goode  tried  that, ' '  remarked  old  Mr.  Moreton.  ' '  I 
don't  know  that  anything  came  of  it.  Still,  I  am  not 
going  to  refuse,  if  Myra  and  Lionel  agree." 

Craig  had  already  taken  from  his  pocket  a  small 
case  containing  a  hypodermic  and  some  little  glass 
tubes.  There  seemed  to  be  no  valid  objection  and 
from  each  of  them  he  drew  off  a  small  quantity  of 
blood.  As  he  worked,  I  thought  I  saw  what  he  had  in 
mind.  Could  there  be,  I  wondered,  an  X-ray  outfit 
or  perhaps  radium  concealed  about  the  living  rooms  of 
the  house  ?  First  of  all,  it  was  necessary  to  verify  Dr. 
Goode 's  observations. 

We  chatted  a  few  moments,  then  took  leave  of  Myra 
Moreton. 

"Keep  up  your  courage,"  whispered  Craig  with  a 
look  that  told  her  that  he  had  seen  the  conflict  between 
loyalty  to  her  father  and  to  her  lover. 


THE  CANCER  HOUSE  269 

Lionel  drove  us  back  to  the  station  in  the  car  alone. 
Nothing  of  importance  was  said  by  any  of  us  until  we 
had  almost  reached  the  station. 

"I  can  see,"  he  said  finally,  "that  you  don't  feel 
sure  that  it  is  a  cancer  house. ' ' 

Kennedy  said  nothing. 

"Well,"  he  pursued,  "I  don't  know  anything  about 
it,  of  course.  But  I  do  know  this  much — those  doc- 
tors are  making  a  good  thing  out  of  father  and  the 
rest  of  us. " 

The  car  had  pulled  up.  ' '  I  've  got  no  use  for  Loeb, ' ' 
the  young  man  went  on.  "Still,  I'd  rather  not  that 
we  had  trouble  with  him.  I  '11  tell  you, ' '  he  added  in 
a  burst  of  confidence,  ' '  he  has  a  little  girl  who  works 
for  him,  his  secretary,  Miss  Golder.  She  comes  from 
Norwood.  I  should  hate  to  have  anything  happen  to 
queer  her.  People  used  to  think  Goode  was  engaged 
to  her  before  he  took  that  office  next  to  us  and  got 
ambitious.  Father  placed  her  with  Dr.  Loeb.  If  it 's 
necessary  to  do  anything  with  him,  I  wish  you'd 
think  whether  she  couldn't  be  kept  out  of  it  in  some 
way." 

"I'll  try  to  do  it,"  agreed  Craig,  as  we  shook  hands 
and  climbed  on  the  early  afternoon  train  back  to  the 
city. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  QUACK  DOCTORS 

KENNEDY'S  first  move  was  to  go  downtown  to  the 
old  building  opposite  the  City  Hall  and  visit  the  post- 
office  inspectors. 

"I've  heard  of  the  government's  campaign  against 
the  medical  quacks  who  are  using  the  mails,"  he  in- 
troduced when  we  at  last  found  the  proper  inspector. 
"I  wonder  whether  you  know  a  Dr.  Adam  Loeb  ? " 

"Loeb?"  repeated  the  inspector,  O'Hanlon,  who 
was  in  charge  of  the  investigation  which  was  then  in 
progress.  ' '  Of  course  we  know  Loeb — a  very  slippery 
customer,  too,  with  just  enough  science  at  his  com- 
mand to  make  the  case  against  him  difficult. 

"I  suppose,"  went  on  O'Hanlon,  "you  know  that  in 
Europe  the  popular  furore  about  radium  and  its  appli- 
cations appeared  earlier  than  it  did  here.  But  now  we 
have  great  numbers  of  dishonest  and  fake  radium  cure 
establishments.  Usually  they  have  neither  radium  nor 
knowledge.  They  promise  a  cure,  but  they  can't  even 
palliate  the  trouble.  Loeb  has  some  radium,  I  guess, 
but  that's  about  all." 

"I  think  I'd  like  to  visit  the  'doctor'  and  his  'medi- 
cal museum,'  "  ventured  Kennedy  when  O'Hanlon 
had  finished  describing  the  case  to  us. 

' '  Very  well, ' '  agreed  0  'Hanlon.  ' '  Our  cases  against 
the  quacks  are  just  about  completed.  I've  heard  a 

270 


THE  QUACK  DOCTORS  271 

great  deal  about  you,  Mr.  Kennedy.  I  think  I  may 
trust  you. ' ' 

The  inspector  paused.  "Tomorrow,"  he  added, 
looking  at  us  significantly,  "we  have  planned  a  simul- 
taneous  raid  of  all  of  them  in  the  city.  However, 
there's  no  objection  to  your  seeing  Dr.  Loeb,  if  you'll 
be  careful  to  give  no  hint  that  something  is  about  to 
be  pulled  off.  I  'm  sure  any  new  evidence  we  may  get 
against  him  will  be  quite  welcome." 

"I'd  like  to  see  him  in  action  before  the  raid," 
hastened  Craig. 

"Well,  I  think  the  best  way,  then,  for  you  to  get  at 
him,"  advised  the  inspector,  "would  be  to  adopt  the 
method  my  investigators  use  with  these  fakers.  I 
mean  for  one  or  the  other  of  you  to  pose  as  a  pros- 
pective patient.  Only  don't  let  him  treat  you  too 
much  with  any  of  those  electrical  things  of  his." 

Craig  glanced  over  at  me  whimsically. 

"Oh,"  I  said  good-humoredly,  "I'll  be  the  goat,  if 
that's  what  you're  going  to  ask  me." 

Craig  laughed. 

"Come  in  tomorrow,"  called  the  inspector  as  we 
left.  "I'd  like  to  hear  what  happens  and  I  may  be 
able  to  add  something  to  what  you  find  out." 

We  found  Dr.  Loeb  established  in  a  palatial  suite 
of  offices  in  an  ultra-modern  office  building.  Outside 
was  what  he  called  his  "medical  museum."  It  was  a 
grewsome  collection  of  wax  figures  and  colored  charts 
well  calculated  to  prepare  one  for  the  worst.  At  the 
end  of  the  room  was  a  huge  sign  bearing  his  name  and 
the  words,  "Positive  Cure  for  Cancer  Without 
Cautery  or  the  Knife." 

There  were  no  cappers  or  steerers  about  the  place. 


272  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

though  I  have  no  doubt  he  had  them  working  for  him 
outside  to  bring  in  business.  Instead,  we  were  met  by 
a  very  pretty,  fluffy-haired  girl,  evidently  the  doctor's 
secretary.  She,  I  gathered,  was  the  Miss  Golder 
whom  Lionel  had  mentioned.  In  fact,  I  felt  that  she 
was  really  much  above  the  level  of  such  a  position. 

Loeb's  office  was  elaborately  equipped.  There  were 
static  machines,  electric  coils,  high  frequency  appli- 
ances, X-ray  outfits,  galvanic  and  faradic  cabinets, 
electric  light  reflectors  of  high  power,  light  bath  cab- 
inets, electric  vibrators,  high  pressure  nebulizers  and 
ozonizers — everything,  as  Craig  expressed  it  later,  to 
impress  the  patient  that  Loeb  could  cure  any  disease 
the  flesh  was  heir  to.  I  know  that  it  impressed 
me. 

The  doctor  himself  was  a  pompous  man  of  middle 
age,  with  a  very  formidable  beard  and  a  deep  voice 
that  forbade  contradiction. 

"I've  come  to  you  on  the  recommendation  of  a 
patient  of  yours,"  began  Craig,  adding  hastily,  "not 
for  myself,  but  for  my  friend  here,  whom  I'm  afraid 
isn't  very  well." 

The  doctor  eyed  me  through  his  gold-rimmed  spec- 
tacles. Already  I  began  to  feel  shaky. 

"Who  recommended  you?"  he  asked  casually. 

"My  friend,  Mr.  Darius  Moreton  of  Norwood.  I 
suppose  you  remember  him  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  very  well,  very  well.  A  most  peculiar  case, 
that  of  the  Moretons.  I  have  succeeded  in  prolong- 
ing their  lives  beyond  what  anyone  else  could  have 
done.  But  I  fear  that  they  haven't  all  followed  my 
treatment.  You  know,  you  must  put  yourself  entirely 
in  my  hands,  and  there  is  a  young  doctor  out  there,  I 


THE  QUACK  DOCTORS  273 

believe,  whom  they  have  also.  That  isn't  fair  to  me. 
I  wonder  whether  you  are  acquainted  with  my  meth- 
ods of  treatment  ? ' ' 

Kennedy  shook  his  head  negatively. 

"Miss  Golder,"  the  doctor  called,  as  the  fluffy- 
haired  secretary  responded  quickly,  "will  you  give 
these  gentlemen  some  of  my  booklets  on  the  Loeb 
Method." 

Miss  Golder  took  from  a  cabinet  several  handsomely 
printed  pamphlets  extolling  the  skill  and  success  of 
Dr.  Loeb.  Like  everything  else  about  him,  no  expense 
had  been  spared  to  impress  the  reader. 

As  Miss  Golder  left  the  office,  Dr.  Loeb  began  a 
rapid  examination  of  me,  using  an  X-ray  machine.  I 
am  sure  that  if  I  had  not  received  a  surreptitious  en- 
couraging nod  from  Craig  now  and  then,  I  should 
have  been  ready  to  croak  or  cash  in,  according  to 
whichever  Dr.  Loeb  suggested — probably  the  latter, 
for  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  a  great  deal  of  time 
was  spent  in  mentally  X-raying  my  pocketbook. 

When  he  finished,  the  doctor  shook  his  head  gravely. 
Of  course  I  was  threatened.  But  the  thing  was  only 
incipient.  Still,  if  it  were  not  attended  to  immediately 
it  was  only  a  question  of  a  short  time  when  I  might 
be  as  badly,  as  the  wax  figures  and  charts  outside.  I 
had  fortunately  come  just  in  time  to  be  saved. 

"I  think  that  with  the  electrical  treatment  we  can 
get  rid  of  that  malignant  growth  in  a  month,"  he 
promised,  fixing  a  price  for  the  treatment  which  I 
thought  was  pretty  high,  considering  the  brief  time  he 
had  actually  spent  on  me,  and  the  slight  cost  of  electric 
light  and  power. 

I  paid  him  ten  dollars  on  deposit,  and  after  a  final 


274  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

consultation  we  left  the  doctor's  office.  I  was  to  re- 
turn for  a  treatment  in  a  couple  of  days. 

We  turned  out  of  the  entrance  of  the  office  building 
just  as  scores  of  employes  were  hurrying  home.  As 
we  reached  the  door,  I  felt  Kennedy  grasp  my  arm.  I 
swung  around.  There,  in  an  angle  of  the  corridor, 
I  caught  sight  of  a  familiar  figure.  Dr.  Goode  was 
standing,  evidently  waiting  for  someone  to  come  out. 
There  were  several  elevators  and  the  crowd  of  dis- 
charging passengers  was  thick.  He  had  been  so  intent 
on  looking  for  someone  he  expected,  apparently,  that 
he  had  missed  us. 

Kennedy  drew  me  on  into  the  doorway  of  the  build- 
ing next  door,  from  which  we  could  observe  everyone 
who  went  in  and  out  of  the  skyscraper  in  which  Dr. 
Loeb  had  his  offices. 

"I  wonder  what  he's  down  here  for,"  scowled  Ken- 
nedy. 

"Perhaps  he's  doing  some  detective  work  of  his 
own,"  I  suggested. 

"Lionel  Moreton  said  that  Miss  Golder  and  he  used 
to  be  intimate,"  ruminated  Kennedy.  "I  wonder  if 
he's  waiting  for  her?" 

We  did  not  have  long  to  wait.  It  was  only  a  few 
minutes  when  Kennedy's  surmise  proved  correct.  Miss 
Golder  and  Dr.  Goode  came  out,  and  turned  in  the 
direction  of  the  railroad  station  for  Norwood.  He  was 
eagerly  questioning  her  about  something,  perhaps,  I 
imagined,  our  visit  to  Dr.  Loeb.  What  did  it  mean? 

There  was  no  use  and  it  was  too  risky  to  follow 
them.  Kennedy  turned  and  we  made  our  way  uptown 
to  the  laboratory,  where  he  plunged  at  once  into  an 
examination  of  the  blood  specimens  he  had  taken  from 


THE  QUACK  DOCTORS  275 

the  Moretons  and  of  the  peculiar  porcelain  cone 
which  he  had  picked  up  in  the  rubbish  pile  between 
the  two  houses. 

Having  emptied  the  specimens  of  blood  in  several 
little  shallow  glass  receptacles  which  he  covered  with 
black  paper  and  some  very  sensitive  films,  he  turned 
his  attention  to  the  cone.  I  noted  that  he  was  very 
particular  in  his  examination  of  it,  apparently  being 
very  careful  to  separate  whatever  it  was  he  was  look- 
ing for  on  the  inside  and  the  outside  surfaces. 

' '  That, ' '  he  explained  to  me  at  length  as  he  worked, 
"is  what  is  known  as  a  Berkefeld  filter,  a  little  porous 
cup,  made  of  porcelain.  The  minute  meshes  of  this 
filter  catch  and  hold  bacteria  as  if  in  the  meshes  of  a 
microscopic  sieve,  just  like  an  ordinary  water  filter. 
It  is  so  fine  that  it  holds  back  even  the  tiny  bacillus 
fluorescens  liquefaciens  which  are  used  to  test  it. 
These  bacilli  measure  only  from  a  half  to  one  and  one- 
and-a-half  micromillimeters  in  diameter.  In  other 
words  130,000  germs  of  half  a  micromillimeter  would 
be  necessary  to  make  an  inch." 

"What  has  it  been  used  for?"  I  ventured. 

"I  can't  say,  yet,"  he  returned,  and  I  did  not  pur- 
sue the  inquiry,  knowing  Kennedy's  aversion  to  being 
questioned  when  he  was  not  yet  sure  of  his  facts. 

It  was  the  next  day  when  the  post-office  inspectors, 
the  police  and  others  who  had  been  co-operating  had 
settled  on  the  raid  not  only  of  Dr.  Loeb's  but  of  all 
the  medical  quacks  who  were  fleecing  the  credulous  of 
the  city  out  of  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars  a  year 
by  one  of  the  most  cruel  swindles  that  have  ever  been 
devised. 

For  the  time,  Kennedy  dropped  his  investigations  in 


276  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

the  laboratory  and  we  went  down  to  0 'Hanlon 's  office, 
where  a  thick  batch  of  warrants,  just  signed,  had  been 
received. 

Quickly  0  'Hanlon  disposed  his  forces  so  that  in  all 
parts  of  the  town  they  might  swoop  down  at  once  and 
gather  in  the  medical  harpies.  Dr.  Loeb  's  stood  first 
on  the  list  of  those  which  0  'Hanlon  decided  to  handle 
himself. 

' '  By  the  way, ' '  mentioned  0  'Hanlon  as  we  hurried 
uptown  to  be  ready  in  time,  "I  had  a  letter  from 
Darius  Moreton  this  morning  threatening  me  with  all 
kinds  of  trouble  unless  we  let  up  on  Dr.  Loeb.  It's 
pretty  hard  to  keep  a  big  investigation  like  this  secret, 
but  I  think  we've  planned  a  little  surprise  for  this 
morning." 

With  the  post-office  inspector  we  climbed  into  a 
patrol  wagon  with  a  detail  of  police  who  were  to  make 
a  general  round-up  of  the  places  on  Forty-second 
Street. 

As  the  wagon  backed  up  to  the  curb  in  front  of  the 
building  in  which  Loeb's  office  was,  the  policemen 
hopped  out  and  hurried  into  the  building  before  a 
crowd  could  collect.  Unceremoniously  they  rushed 
through  the  outer  office,  headed  by  0  'Hanlon. 

Quickly  though  the  raid  was  executed,  it  could  not 
be  done  without  some  warning  commotion.  As  we 
entered  the  front  door  of  the  office,  we  could  just 
catch  a  glimpse  of  a  man  retreating  through  a  back 
door.  There  was  something  familiar  about  his  back, 
and  Kennedy  and  I  started  after  him.  But  we  were 
too  late.  He  had  fled  without  even  waiting  for  his  hat, 
which  lay  on  Miss  Golder's  desk,  and  had  disappeared 


THE  QUACK  DOCTOKS  277 

down  a  back  stairway  which  had  been  left  un- 
guarded. 

''Confound  it,"  muttered  O'Hanlon,  as  we  re- 
turned, "Loeb  hasn't  been  here  today.  Who  was 
that?" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Craig,  picking  up  the  hat, 
underneath  which  lay  a  package. 

He  opened  the  package.  Inside  were  half  a  dozen 
Berkefeld  filters,  those  peculiar  porcelain  cones  such 
as  we  had  found  out  at  Norwood. 

Quickly  Craig  ran  his  eye  over  the  mass  of  papers 
on  Miss  Golder's  desk.  He  picked  up  an  appoint- 
ment book  and  turned  the  pages  rapidly.  There  were 
several  entries  that  seemed  to  interest  him.  I  bent 
over.  Among  other  names  entered  during  the  past 
few  days  I  made  out  both  "Moreton"  and  "Dr. 
Goode. "  I  recalled  the  letter  which  O'Hanlon  had 
received  from  Moreton.  Had  he  or  someone  else  got 
wind  of  the  raids  and  tipped  off  Dr.  Loeb? 

Above  the  hubbub  of  the  raid  I  could  hear  O'Han- 
lon putting  poor  little  Miss  Golder  through  a  third 
degree. 

"Who  was  it  that  went  out?"  he  shouted  into  her 
face.  "You  might  as  well  tell.  If  you  don't  it'll  go 
hard  with  you. ' ' 

But,  like  all  women  who  have  been  taken  into  these 
get-rich-quick  swindles,  she  was  loyal  to  a  fault.  "I 
don't  know,"  she  sobbed,  dabbing  at  her  eyes  with  a 
bit  of  a  lace  handkerchief. 

Nor  could  all  of  O'Hanlon 's  bulldozing  get  another 
admission  out  of  her  except  that  it  was  a  "stranger." 
She  protested  and  wept.  But  she  even  rode  off  in  the 
patrol  wagon  with  the  rest  of  the  employes  unmoved. 


278  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

Whom  was  she  shielding?  All  we  had  was  the  sec- 
retary, a  couple  of  cappers,  and  half  a  dozen  patients, 
regular  and  prospective,  who  had  been  waiting  in  the 
office.  We  had  a  wagon-load  of  evidence,  including 
letters  and  circulars,  apparatus  of  all  kinds,  medi- 
cines, and  pills.  But  there  was  nothing  more.  Craig 
did  not  seem  especially  interested  in  the  mass  of  stuff 
which  the  police  had  seized. 

In  fact  the  only  thing  that  seemed  to  interest  him 
was  the  man  who  had  disappeared.  We  had  his  hat 
and  the  package  of  filters.  Craig  picked  up  the  hat 
and  examined  it. 

"It's  a  soft  hat  and  consequently  doesn't  tell  us 
very  much  about  the  shape  of  his  head, ' '  he  remarked. 
Then  his  face  brightened.  "But  he  couldn't  have  left 
anything  much  better,"  he  remarked  complacently, 
as  he  went  over  to  one  of  the  little  wall  cabinets 
which  the  towel  service  companies  place  over  wash- 
basins in  offices.  He  took  from  it  a  comb  and  brush 
and  wrapped  them  up  carefully. 

I  looked  at  the  hat  also.  There  was  no  name  in  it, 
not  even  the  usual  initials.  What  did  Craig  mean? 

Other  raids  in  various  parts  of  the  city  proved  far 
more  successful  than  the  one  in  which  we  had  par- 
ticipated and  O'Hanlon  quickly  forgot  his  chagrin  in 
the  reports  that  soon  came  piling  in.  As  for  our- 
selves we  had  no  further  interest  except  in  the  dispo- 
sition of  this  case,  and  Craig  decided  shortly  to  go 
back  to  work  again  in  the  laboratory  among  his  test- 
tubes,  slides,  and  microscopes. 

"I  will  leave  you  to  follow  the  cases  against  the 
quacks,  particularly  Dr.  Loeb  and  Miss  Golder,  Wal- 
ter," he  said.  "By  the  way,  you  saw  me  take  that 


THE  QUACK  DOCTORS  279 

hair  brush.  I  wish  I  had  a  collection  of  them.  In 
some  way  you  must  get  me  a  hair  brush  from  Dr. 
Goode.  You'll  have  to  take  a  trip  out  to  Norwood. 
And  while  you  are  there,  get  the  brushes  from 
Darius  Moreton  and  Lionel.  I  don't  know  how  you'll 
get  Goode 's,  but  Myra  will  help  you  with  the  others, 
I'm  sure." 

He  turned  to  his  work  and  was  soon  absorbed  in 
some  microscopic  studies,  leaving  me  no  chance  to 
question  him  about  his  strange  commission. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  FILTERABLE  VIRUS 

I  WAS  surprised  to  run  into  O'Hanlon  himself  in 
the  train  out  to  Norwood.  The  failure  to  get  Dr. 
Loeb  troubled  him  and  he  had  reasoned  that  if  Darius 
Moreton  took  the  trouble  to  write  a  letter  about  his 
friend  he  might  possibly  know  more  of  his  where- 
abouts than  he  professed.  We  discussed  the  case 
nearly  the  whole  journey,  agreeing  to  separate  just 
before  we  reached  the  station  in  order  not  to  be  seen 
together. 

It  took  me  longer  to  carry  out  Kennedy's  request 
than  I  had  expected.  I  found  Myra  at  home  alone, 
very  much  excited. 

' '  Someone  called  me  up  from  New  York  this  morn- 
ing, ' '  she  said,  ' '  and  asked  whether  father  and  Lionel 
were  at  home.  I  thought  they  were  at  the  factory, 
but  when  I  called  there,  the  foreman  told  me  they 
hadn't  been  there.  And  Dr.  Goode  is  out,  too — 
hasn't  seen  any  of  his  patients  today.  Oh,  Mr.  Jame- 
son, what  does  it  all  mean?  Where  have  they  gone?" 

I  was  a  poor  one  to  comfort  her,  for  I  had  no  idea 
myself.  Still,  I  did  my  best,  and  incidentally  secured 
the  brushes,  though  I  must  confess  I  had  to  commit  a 
little  second-story  work  to  get  into  Dr.  Goode 's. 

It  seemed  heartless  to  leave  the  poor  girl  all  alone, 
but  I  knew  that  Kennedy  was  waiting  anxiously  for 
me.  I  promised  to  make  inquiries  all  over  about  her 

280 


THE  FILTERABLE  VIRUS  281 

father,  Lionel,  and  Dr.  Goode,  and,  I  think,  the  mere 
fact  that  someone  showed  an  interest  in  her  cheered 
her  up,  especially  when  I  told  her  Kennedy  was  work- 
ing hard  on  the  case. 

As  I  waited  for  the  train  that  was  to  take  me  back 
to  the  city,  the  train  from  New  York  pulled  in.  Im- 
agine my  surprise  when  I  saw  Miss  Golder  step  off 
nervously  and  hurry  up  the  main  street. 

I  watched  her,  debating  what  to  do,  whether  to  let 
Kennedy  wait  and  follow  her,  or  not. 

"Someone,  they  don't  know  who,  bailed  her  out," 
I  heard  a  voice  whisper  in  my  ear. 

I  turned  quickly.  It  was  0  'Hanlon.  ' '  She  put  up 
cash  bail,"  he  added  under  his  breath.  "No  one 
knows  where  she  got  it.  I'm  waiting  until  she  turns 
that  corner — then  I'm  going  to  shadow  her.  I  can't 
seem  to  find  anyone  in  this  town  just  now.  Perhaps 
she  knows  where  Loeb  is." 

"If  you  get  on  the  trail,  will  you  wire  me?"  I 
asked.  "Here's  my  train  now." 

O 'Hanlon  promised,  and  as  I  swung  on  the  step  I 
caught  a  last  glimpse  of  him  sauntering  casually  in 
the  direction  Miss  Golder  had  taken. 

I  handed  Kennedy  the  brushes  I  had  obtained,  but 
he  gave  me  no  opportunity  to  satisfy  my  curiosity. 
Instead,  he  started  me  out  again  to  keep  in  touch 
with  the  progress  made  in  the  cases  of  the  quacks, 
particularly  the  search  for  Dr.  Loeb,  which  seemed 
to  interest  him  quite  as  much  as  the  bailing  out  of 
Miss  Golder. 

It  was  after  dinner  and  I  was  preparing  to  follow 
the  cases  on  into  the  night  court,  if  necessary,  when 
one  of  0 'Hanlon 's  assistants  hurried  up  to  me. 


282  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"We've  just  had  a  wire  from  Mr.  O'Hanlon,"  he 
cried  excitedly,  handing  me  a  telegram. 
I  read: 

"Loeb  captured  Norwood.  Darius  Moreton  hiding 
him  in  vacant  house  outside  town.  Advise  Kennedy. ' ' 

I  dashed  for  the  nearest  telephone  and  called  up 
Craig. 

"Fine,  Walter,"  he  shouted  back.  "I  am  ready. 
Meet  me  at  the  station  and  wire  O'Hanlon  to  wait 
there  for  us. ' ' 

We  made  the  journey  to  Norwood  as  impatiently  as 
any  two  passengers  on  the  accommodation  at  that 
hour  of  night,  Craig  carrying  his  evidence  in  the 
case  in  a  little  leather  hand  satchel. 

Already,  out  at  the  old  house,  O'Hanlon  had  gath- 
ered the  Moreton  family,  Dr.  Goode,  who  had  turned 
up  with  the  rest,  Dr.  Loeb,  and  Miss  Golder.  Myra 
Moreton  was  even  more  agitated  than  she  had  been 
when  I  left  her  during  the  afternoon.  In  fact  the 
secrecy  maintained  by  both  her  family  and  Dr.  Goode, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  presence  of  Dr.  Loeb  in  the 
house  under  arrest,  had  all  but  broken  her  down.  She 
greeted  Kennedy  almost  as  though  he  had  been  a 
life-long  friend. 

"I  want  you  to  look  after  Miss  Moreton,  Walter," 
he  said  in  a  low  tone  as  we  three  stood  in  the  hall. 
"And  you,  Miss  Moreton,  I  want  to  trust  me  when  I 
tell  you  I  am  going  to  bring  you  safely  out  of  this 
thing.  Be  a  brave  girl,"  he  encouraged,  taking  her- 
hand.  "Remember  that  Mr.  Jameson  and  I  are  here 
solely  in  your  interest." 


THE  FILTERABLE  VIRUS  283 

' '  I  know  it, ' '  she  murmured,  her  lip  trembling.  ' '  I 
will  try." 

A  moment  later  we  entered  the  Moreton  library. 
Dr.  Loeb  was  glaring  impartially  at  everybody.  I  am 
sure  that  if  he  had  been  able  to  get  at  any  of  his 
formidable  electrical  apparatus  he  would  have  made 
short  work  of  us  "  without  cautery  or  knife. ' '  Darius 
Moreton  was  indignant,  Lionel  supercilious,  Dr. 
Goode  silent. 

Kennedy  lost  no  time  in  getting  down  to  the  busi- 
ness that  had  brought  him  out  to  Norwood,  for  this 
was  not  exactly  a  sociable  gathering. 

"Of  course,"  he  began,  laying  his  leather  case  on 
the  table  and  unlocking,  but  not  opening  it,  "refer- 
ences to  cancer  houses  abound  in  medical  literature, 
but  I  think  I  am  safe  in  saying  that  nothing  has  been 
conclusively  proved  in  favor  either  of  the  believers 
or  the  skeptics.  At  least,  it  may  be  said  to  be  an 
open  question,  with  the  weight  of  opinion  against  it. 
Such  physicians  as  Sir  Thomas  Oliver  have  said  that 
the  evidence  in  favor  is  too  strong  to  be  ignored. 
Others,  equally  brilliant,  have  shown  why  it  should 
be  ignored. 

"In  the  absence  of  better  proof — or  rather  in  the 
presence  of  other  facts — perhaps,  in  this  case,  it  would 
be  better  to  see  whether  there  is  not  some  other  theory 
that  may  fit  the  facts  better." 

"Dr.  Goode  thought  that  the  cancers  might  have 
been  caused  artificially  by  X-rays  or  radium,"  I  ven- 
tured. 

Craig  shook  his  head.  "I  have  taken  a  piece  of 
filter  paper  saturated  with  a  solution  of  potassium 
iodide,  starch  paste,  and  f  errosulphate  and  laid  it  over 


284  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

a  sample  of  blood,  not  four  millimeters  away.  The 
whole  I  have  kept  in  the  dark. 

"Now,  we  know  that  blood  gives  off  peroxide  of 
hydrogen.  Peroxide  of  hydrogen  is  capable  of  at- 
tacking photographic  plates.  The  paper  can  be  per- 
meated by  a  gas.  No,  that  was  not  a  case  of  photo- 
activity  observed  by  Dr.  Gopde.  It  was  the  emission 
of  gas  from  the  blood  that  affected  the  plates. ' ' 

"But  suppose  that  is  the  case,"  objected  Dr.  Goode 
hastily.  "There  are  the  deaths  from  cancer.  How 
do  you  explain  them?  It  is  not  a  cancer  house,  you 
say.  Is  it  mere  chance?" 

"Anyone  may  be  pardoned  for  believing  that  can- 
cer houses  or  even  cancer  districts  exist,"  reiterated 
Craig.  "Indeed  some  observations  seem  to  show  it, 
as  I  have  said,  though  the  opponents  of  the  theory 
claim  to  have  found  other  causes.  Here,  as  you  hint, 
five  people,  living  in  close  association,  have  died  in 
five  years. ' ' 

He  paused  and  drew  from  the  satchel  the  little 
porcelain  cone  which  he  had  picked  up  between  the 
Moreton  and  Goode  houses. 

"I  have  here,"  he  resumed,  "what  is  known  as  a 
Berkefeld  filter.  Its  meshes  let  through  none  of  the 
germs  that  we  can  see  with  a  microscope.  It  is  bac- 
teria-proof. Only  something  smaller  than  these  things 
can  pass  through  it,  something  that  we  cannot  see,  a 
clear  watery  fluid.  That  something  in  this  case  is  a 
filterable  virus." 

Kennedy  paused  again,  then  went  on,  "Although 
the  filterable  viruses  have  only  recently  come  to  at- 
tention, it  is  known  that  they  are  of  very  diverse 
character.  Here  we  have  opened  up  the  world  of  the 


THE  FILTERABLE  VIRUS  285 

infinitely  little— the  universe  that  lies  beyond  the 
range  of  the  microscope.  The  study  of  these  tiny 
particles  is  now  one  of  the  greatest  objects  in  scien- 
tific medicine. 

"Are  they  living?  It  seems  so,  for  a  very  little  of 
the  virus  gives  rise  to  growths  from  which  many 
others  start.  It  may,  of  course,  be  chemical,  but  it 
looks  as  if  it  were  organic,  since  it  resists  cold,  al- 
though not  heat,  and  can  be  destroyed  by  phenol, 
toluol,  and  other  antiseptics.  Perhaps  the  virus  may 
be  visible,  but  not  by  any  means  yet  known.  Still, 
we  do  know  that  these  things  which  no  eye  can  see 
may  cause  some  of  the  commonest  diseases. ' ' 

Kennedy  paused.  As  usual  he  had  his  little  audi- 
ence following  him  breathlessly.  Even  Dr.  Loeb  for- 
got to  glower. 

"In  recent  experiments  with  cancer  in  chickens," 
continued  Craig,  "tumor  material  ground  fine  and 
treated  in  various  ways  has  been  filtered  through 
these  filters.  Cancers  have  been  caused  by  this  agent 
which  has  passed  through  the  filter. 

' '  On  the  inside  of  the  filter  which  I  picked  up  back 
of  this  very  house,  near  the  boundary  of  Dr.  Goode's, 
I  have  found  the  giant  cells  of  cancer.  On  the  out- 
side was  something  which  I  have  been  able  to  develop 
into  a  virus,  these  micro-organisms  that  belong  to  the 
ultra-invisible.  I  do  not  pretend  to  know  just  how 
this  bacteriological  dwarf  has  been  used.  But  I  know 
enough  to  say  that  someone  has,  without  doubt,  been 
using  some  sort  of  filterable  virus  to  induce  cancers, 
just  as  the  experimenters  at  the  Rockefeller  Institute 
have  done  with  animals. 

"Naturally,   in  the  Moreton  family,  this  person 


286  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

found  a  fertile  soil.  Perhaps  he  waited  until  he  saw 
what  looked  like  a  favorable  wound,  or  traumatism. 
It  is  well-known  that  cancer  often  can  be  traced  to  a 
wound.  Perhaps  he  introduced  this  virus  surrepti- 
tiously into  a  cut,  now  and  then.  For,  experiments 
show  that  the  virus  is  strikingly  dependent  for  its 
action  on  the  derangement  of  the  tissues  with  which 
it  is  brought  in  contact. 

"This  person  must  have  had  a  high  percentage  of 
failures  in  his  attempts  to  inoculate  the  virus  suc- 
cessfully. But  by  persistence  and  taking  advantage  of 
every  predisposition  afforded  by  nature,  he  succeeded. 
At  any  rate,  this  person  must  have  been  intimately 
acquainted  with  the  family,  must  have  had  some 
motive  for  seeking  their  deaths, — for  instance  the 
family  fortune. 

"It  makes  no  difference  whether  the  victims  might 
have  had  cancer  sooner  or  later,  anyway.  Even  if 
that  were  so,  this  cold-blooded  villain  was  at  least 
hastening  the  development,  if  not  actually  causing  the 
frightful  and  fatal  disease. ' ' 

Myra  Moreton  shuddered,  and  looked  at  Dr.  Goode 
anxiously  as  Kennedy  proceeded.  He  seemed  about 
to  interrupt,  but  managed  to  check  himself.  Craig 
reached  over  and  picked  out  from  the  satchel  the  hat 
which  we  had  found  on  a  desk  at  the  office  of  the 
cancer  quack. 

"In  the  raid  of  Dr.  Loeb's,"  he  explained,  changing 
tone,  "a  man  disappeared.  I  have  here  a  soft  hat 
which  he  left  behind  in  his  hurry  to  escape,  as  well 
as  some  of  the  filters  he  was  carrying. ' ' 

He  turned  the  hat  inside  out.  "You  will  see," 
Craig  pointed  out,  "that  on  the  felt  of  the  inside 


THE  FILTERABLE  VIRUS  287 

there  are  numerous  hairs,  from  the  head  of  the 
wearer. ' ' 

I  leaned  forward,  breathlessly.  I  began  to  see  the 
part  I  had  played  in  building  up  his  case. 

"Human  hair,"  he  remarked,  "differs  greatly. 
Under  the  microscope  one  may  study  the  oval-shaped 
medulla,  the  long  pointed  cortex,  and  the  flat  cuticle 
cells  of  an  individual  hair.  The  pigment  in  the  cor- 
tex can  be  studied  also. 

"I  have  taken  some  of  the  hairs  from  the  inside  of 
this  hat,  examined,  photographed,  and  measured 
them.  I  have  compared  them  with  a  color  scale  per- 
fected by  the  late  Alphonse  Bertillon.  In  fact,  in 
France  quite  a  science  has  been  built  up  about  hair 
by  the  so-called  'pilologists.'  The  German  scientific 
criminalists  have  written  minute  treaties  on  the  hair 
and  astounding  results  have  been  obtained  by  them  in 
detection. 

"I  have  been  able  to  secure  samples  of  the  hair  of 
everyone  in  this  case  and  I  have  studied  them  also. 
These  hairs  in  the  hat  which  was  left  over  the  pack- 
age of  filters  have  furnished  me  with  a  slender  but  no 
less  damning  clew  to  a  veritable  monster." 

One  could  have  heard  a  pin  drop,  as  if  Kennedy 
were  a  judge  pronouncing  a  death  sentence. 

"Dr.  Loeb  is  guilty  of  being  one  of  the  most  heart- 
less of  quacks,  it  is  true,"  Kennedy's  voice  rang  out 
tensely,  as  he  faced  us.  "But  the  slow  murders,  one 
by  one,  bringing  the  family  estate  nearer  and  nearer 
— they  were  done  by  one  who  hoped  to  throw  the 
blame  on  Dr.  Loeb,  by  the  man  whose  hair  I  have 
here — Lionel  Moreton. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  VOODOO  MYSTERY 

"EVERYBODY'S  crazy,  Kennedy.  The  whole  world 
is  going  mad ! ' ' 

Our  old  friend,  Burke,  of  the  Secret  Service, 
scowled  at  the  innocent  objects  in  Craig's  laboratory 
as  he  mopped  his  broad  forehead. 

"And  the  Secret  Service  is  as  bad  as  the  rest,"  he 
went  on,  still  scowling  and  not  waiting  for  any  com- 
ment from  us.  "Why,  what  with  these  European 
spies  and  agitators,  strikers  and  dynamiters,  we're 
nearly  dippy.  Here,  in  less  than  a  week  I've  been 
shifted  off  war  cases  to  Mexico  and  now  to  Hayti.  I 
don't  mean  that  I've  been  away,  of  course, — oh,  no. 
You  don't  have  to  go  to  them.  They  come  to  us. 
Confound  it,  New  York  is  full  of  plots  and  counter- 
plots. I  tell  you,  Kennedy,  the  whole  world  is  crazy. ' ' 

Craig  listened  with  sympathy  mixed  with  amuse- 
ment. "Can  I  help  you  out?"  he  asked. 

"If  you  don't  I'll  be  dippy,  too,"  returned  Burke 
with  a  whimsical  grimace. 

"What's  the  trouble  with  Hayti,  then?"  encour- 
aged Kennedy  seriously. 

' '  Trouble  enough, ' '  answered  Burke.  ' '  Why,  here 's 
that  Caribbean  liner,  Haytien,  just  in  from  Port  au 
Prince.  She's  full  of  refugees — government  support- 
ers and  revolutionists — you  never  saw  such  a  menage- 
rie since  the  ark." 

288 


THE  VOODOO  MYSTERY  289 

I  watched  Burke  keenly  as  he  cut  loose  with  his 
often  picturesque  language.  Somehow,  it  seemed 
rather  fascinating  to  have  the  opera  bouffe  side  of 
the  Black  Republic  presented  to  us.  At  least  it  was 
different  from  anything  we  had  had  lately — and  per- 
haps not  at  all  opera  bouffe,  either.  Kennedy,  at  least, 
did  not  seem  to  think  so,  for  although  he  was  very 
busy  at  the  time,  seemed  prepared  to  lay  aside  his 
work  to  aid  Burke. 

"You  haven't  heard  about  it  yet,"  continued  the 
Secret  Service  man,  "but  on  the  Haytien  was  a  man — 
black  of  course — Guillaume  Leon.  He  was  a  friend 
of  the  United  States — at  least  so  he  called  himself,  I 
believe — wanted  a  new  revolution  down  there,  more 
American  marines  landed  to  bolster  up  a  new  govern- 
ment that  would  clean  things  up,  a  new  deal  all 
around. ' ' 

Burke  paused,  then  added  by  way  of  explanation 
of  his  own  attitude  in  the  matter,  "That  may  be  all 
right,  perhaps, — may  be  just  what  they  need  down 
there,  but  we  can't  let  people  come  here  and  plot  revo- 
lutions like  that  right  in  New  York.  They're  sore 
enough  at  us  without  our  letting  them  think  in  Latin 
America  that  we're  taking  a  hand  in  their  troubles." 

' '  Quite  right, ' '  agreed  Kennedy.    ' '  About  Leon. ' ' 

"Yes,  Leon,"  resumed  Burke,  getting  back  to  the 
subject.  ' '  Well,  I  was  told  by  the  Chief  of  the  Service 
to  look  out  for  this  fellow.  And  I  did.  I  thought  it 
would  make  a  good  beginning  to  go  down  the  bay  on 
a  revenue  tug  to  meet  the  Haytien  at  Quarantine. 
But,  by  Jingo,  no  sooner  was  I  over  the  side  of  the 
ship  than  what  do  you  suppose  I  ran  up  against?" 

He  did  not  pause  long  enough  to  give  us  a  guess, 


290  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

but  shot  out  dramatically,  "Leon  was  dead — yes, 
dead!" 

Kennedy  and  I  had  been  interested  up  to  this 
point.  Now  we  were  eager  to  have  him  go  on.  "He 
died  on  the  voyage  up,"  continued  Burke,  "just 
after  passing  the  Gulf  Stream,  suddenly  and  from  no 
apparent  cause.  At  least  the  ship 's  surgeon  couldn  't 
find  any  cause  and  neither  could  they  down  at  Quar- 
antine. So  after  some  time  they  let  the  ship  proceed 
up  the  bay  and  placed  the  whole  thing  in  the  hands 
of  the  Secret  Service." 

' '  Is  there  anyone  you  suspect  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Suspect?"  repeated  Burke.  "I  suspect  them  all. 
The  Haytien  was  full  of  niggers — as  superstitious  as 
they  make  'em.  The  ship 's  surgeon  tells  me  that  after 
the  body  of  Leon  was  discovered  there  was  such  a 
scene  as  he  had  never  witnessed.  It  was  more  like 
bedlam  than  a  group  of  human  beings.  Some  were 
for  putting  the  body  over  into  the  sea  immediately. 
Others  threatened  murder  if  it  was  done.  Most  of 
them  didn't  know  what  it  was  they  wanted.  Then, 
there  was  a  woman  there.  She  seemed  to  be  nearly 
crazy — " 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  laboratory  door. 

"If  you'll  just  go  into  the  next  room  with  Walter," 
said  Craig  to  Burke,  "I'll  see  you  in  a  few  minutes. 
Sit  down,  make  yourself  at  home. ' ' 

I  went  in  with  him  and  Burke  dropped  into  a  chair 
beside  my  typewriter.  The  laboratory  door  opened. 
From  where  we  were  sitting  we  could  see  in  a  mirror 
on  the  opposite  wall  that  it  was  a  girl,  dark  of  skin, 
perhaps  a  mulatto,  but  extremely  beautiful,  with 
great  brown  eyes  and  just  a  trace  of  kinkiness  in  her 


THE  VOODOO  MYSTERY  291 

black  hair.    But  it  was  the  worried,  almost  haunted, 
look  on  her  face  that  attracted  one's  attention  most. 

I  happened  to  glance  at  Burke  to  see  whether  he 
had  noticed  it.  I  thought  his  eyes  would  pop  out  of 
his  head. 

Just  then  Kennedy  walked  across  the  laboratory 
and  closed  our  door. 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  whispered. 

But  before  Burke  could  reply,  a  draught  opened 
the  door  just  a  bit.  He  placed  his  finger  on  his  lips. 
We  could  not  close  the  door,  and  we  sat  there  in  our 
corner  unintentional  but  no  less  interested  eavesdrop- 
pers. 

"Mademoiselle  Collette  Aux  Cayes  is  my  name," 
she  began,  with  a  strangely  French  accent  which  we 
could  just  understand.  "I've  heard  of  you,  Profes- 
sor Kennedy,  as  a  great  detective." 

"I  should  be  glad  to  do  what  I  can  for  you,"  he 
returned.  "But  you  mustn't  expect  too  much.  You 
seem  to  be  in  some  great  trouble. ' ' 

"Trouble — yes,"  she  replied  excitedly.  "My  name 
isn't  really  Aux  Cayes.  That  is  the  name  of  my 
guardian,  a  friend  of  my  father's.  Both  my  father 
and  mother  are  dead — killed  by  a  mob  during  an  up- 
rising several  years  ago.  I  was  in  Paris  at  the  time, 
being  educated  in  a  convent,  or  I  suppose  I  should 
have  been  killed,  too." 

She  seemed  to  take  it  as  a  matter  of  course,  from 
which  I  concluded  that  she  had  been  sent  to  Paris 
when  she  was  very  young  and  did  not  remember  her 
parents  very  well. 

"At  last  the  time  came  for  me  to  go  back  to  Hayti," 
she  resumed.  ' '  There  is  nothing  that  would  interest 


292  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

you  about  that — except  that  after  I  got  back,  in  Port 
au  Prince,  I  met  a  young  lawyer — Guillaume  Leon." 

She  hesitated  and  looked  at  Craig  as  though  trying 
to  read  whether  he  had  ever  heard  the  name  before, 
but  Kennedy  betrayed  nothing.  There  was  more  than 
that  in  her  tone,  though.  It  was  evident  that  Leon 
had  been  more  than  a  friend  to  her. 

' '  Hayti  has  been  so  upset  during  the  past  months, ' ' 
she  went  on,  ' '  that  my  guardian  decided  to  go  to  New 
York,  and  of  course  I  was  taken  along  with  him.  It 
happened  that  on  the  ship — the  Haytien — Monsieur 
Leon  went  also.  It  was  very  nice  until — " 

She  came  to  a  full  stop.  Kennedy  encouraged  her 
gently,  knowing  what  she  was  going  to  tell. 

"One  night,  after  we  had  been  out  some  time,"  she 
resumed  unexpectedly,  ' '  I  could  not  sleep  and  I  went 
out  on  the  deck  to  walk  and  watch  the  moonlight.  As 
I  walked  softly  up  and  down,  I  heard  voices,  two  men, 
in  the  shadow  of  one  of  the  cabins.  They  were  talk- 
ing and  now  and  then  I  could  catch  a  word.  It  was 
about  Guillaume.  I  heard  them  say  that  he  was  plot- 
ting another  revolution,  that  that  was  the  reason  he 
was  going  to  New  York — not  because  he  wanted  to  be 
on  the  boat  with  me.  There  was  something  about 
money,  too,  although  I  couldn't  get  it  very  clearly. 
It  had  to  do  with  an  American  banking  house,  For- 
sythe  &  Co.,  I  think, — money  that  was  to  be  paid  to 
Guillaume  to  start  an  uprising.  I  think  they  must 
have  heard  me,  for  I  couldn't  hear  any  more  and  they 
moved  off  down  the  deck,  so  that  I  couldn't  recognize 
them.  You  see,  I  am  not  a  revolutionist.  My  guar- 
dian belongs  to  the  old  order. ' ' 

She  stopped  again,  as  though  in  doubt  just  how  to 


THE  VOODOO  MYSTERY  293 

go  on.  "Anyhow,"  she  continued  finally,  "I  deter- 
mined to  tell  Guillaume.  It  would  have  made  it 
harder  for  us — but  it  was  he,  not  his  politics,  I  loved." 
She  was  almost  crying  as  she  blurted  out,  "But  it 
was  only  the  next  day  that  he  was  found  dead  in  his 
stateroom.  I  never  saw  him  alive  after  I  overheard 
that  talk." 

It  was  some  moments  before  she  had  calmed  her- 
self so  that  she  could  go  on.  "You  know  our  people, 
Professor  Kennedy,"  she  resumed,  choking  back  her 
sobs.  "Some  said  his  dead  body  was  like  Jonah,  and 
ought  to  be  thrown  off  to  the  sea.  Then  others  didn't 
even  want  to  have  it  touched,  said  that  it  ought  to  be 
embalmed.  And  others  didn't  want  that,  either." 

' '  What  do  you  mean  ?    Who  were  they  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  there  was  one  man, — Castine,"  she  replied, 
hesitating  over  the  name,  as  though  afraid  even  to 
mention  it. 

"He  wanted  it  thrown  overboard?"  prompted 
Craig. 

"N — no,  he  didn't  want  that,  either,"  she  replied. 
"He  urged  them  not  to  touch  it — just  to  leave  it 
alone." 

She  was  very  much  frightened,  evidently  at  her 
own  temerity  in  coming  to  Craig  and  saying  so  much. 
Yet  something  seemed  to  impel  her  to  go  on. 

"Oh,  Professor  Kennedy,"  she  exclaimed  in  a  sud- 
den burst  of  renewed  feeling,  "don't  you  understand? 
I — i  loved  him — even  after  I  found  out  about  the 
money  and  what  he  intended  to  do  with  it.  I  could 
not  see  his  dear  body  thrown  in  the  ocean." 

She  shivered  all  over  at  the  thought,  and  it  was 
some  time  before  she  said  anything  more.  But  Ken- 


294  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

nedy  let  her  do  as  she  pleased,  as  he  often  did  when 
deep  emotion  was  wringing  the  secrets  from  people's 
hearts. 

"He  is  dead!"  she  sobbed  wildly.  "Was  he 
poisoned?  Oh,  can't  you  find  out?  Can't  you 
help  me?" 

Suddenly  her  voice  in  wild  appeal  sank  almost  to 
a  hoarse  whisper.  ' '  You  must  not  let  anybody  know 
that  I  came  to  you, ' '  she  implored. 

"Why  not?" 

"Oh— I— I  am  just  afraid— that 's  all." 

There  was  real  fear  in  her  tone  and  face  now,  fear 
for  herself. 

"Where  is  the  body?"  asked  Kennedy,  to  get  her 
mind  off  whatever  hung  like  an  incubus  over  it. 

"Down  on  the  Haytien,  at  the  pier,  over  in  Brook- 
lyn, still,"  she  replied.  "They  kept  us  all  interned 
there.  But  my  guardian  had  enough  influence  to  get 
off  for  a  time  and  while  he  is  arranging  for  quarters 
for  our  stay  after  we  are  released,  I  slipped  away  to 
see  you." 

"You  must  go  back  to  the  boat?" 

"Oh,  yes.    We  agreed  to  go  back." 

' '  Then  I  shall  be  down  immediately, ' '  Craig  prom- 
ised. "If  you  will  go  ahead,  I  will  see  you  there. 
Perhaps,  at  first  you  had  better  not  recognize  me.  I 
will  contrive  some  way  to  meet  you.  Then  they  will 
not  know." 

"Thank  you,"  she  murmured,  as  she  rose  to  go, 
now  in  doubt  whether  she  had  done  the  best  thing  to 
come  to  Craig,  now  glad  that  she  had  some  outside 
assistance  in  which  she  could  trust. 

He  accompanied  her  to  the  door,  bidding  her  keep 


THE  VOODOO  MYSTERY  295 

up  her  courage,  then  closed  it,  waiting  until  her  foot- 
steps down  the  hall  had  died  away. 

Then  he  opened  our  door  and  caught  sight  of 
Burke 's  face. 

"That's  strange,  Burke,"  he  began,  before  he  real- 
ized what  the  expression  on  his  face  meant.  "There's 
a  woman — what?  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that 
you  knew  her?" 

"Why,  yes,"  hastened  Burke.  "There  was  a  rich 
old  planter,  Henri  Aux  Cayes,  aboard,  too.  She's  his 
ward,  Mademoiselle  Collette." 

"That's  right,"  nodded  Craig  in  surprise. 

"She's  the  woman  I  was  telling  you  about.  She 
may  be  a  little  dark,  but  she's  a  beauty,  all  right.  I 
heard  what  she  said.  No  wonder  she  was  so  frantic, 
then." 

"What  do  you  know  of  the  bankers,  Forsythe  & 
Co.?  "asked  Craig. 

"Forsythe  &  Co.?"  considered  Burke.  "Well,  not 
much,  perhaps.  But  for  a  long  time,  I  believe,  they've 
been  the  bankers  and  promoters  of  defunct  Caribbean 
islands,  reaping  a  rich  harvest  out  of  the  troubles  of 
those  decrepit  governments,  playing  one  against  the 
other." 

"H-m,"  mused  Kennedy.  "Can  you  go  over  to 
Brooklyn  with  me  now?" 

"Of  course,"  agreed  Burke,  brightening  up. 
"That  was  what  I  hoped  you'd  do." 

Kennedy  and  I  were  just  about  to  leave  the  labora- 
tory with  Burke  when  an  idea  seemed  to  occur  to 
Craig.  He  excused  himself  and  went  back  to  a  cabinet 
where  I  saw  him  place  a  little  vial  and  a  hypodermic 
needle  in  his  vest  pocket. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  FLUORISCINE  TEST 

OUR  trip  over  to  the  other  borough  was  uneventful 
except  for  the  toilsome  time  we  had  to  get  to  the 
docks  where  South  and  Central  American  ships  were 
moored.  We  boarded  the  Haytien  at  last  and  Burke 
led  us  along  the  deck  toward  a  cabin.  I  looked  about 
curiously.  There  seemed  to  be  the  greatest  air  of 
suppressed  excitement.  Everyone  was  talking,  in 
French,  too,  which  seemed  strange  to  me  in  people 
of  their  color.  Yet  everything  seemed  to  be  in  whis- 
pers as  if  they  were  in  fear. 

We  entered  the  cabin  after  our  guide.  There  in 
the  dim  light  lay  the  body  of  Leon  in  a  bunk.  There 
were  several  people  in  the  room,  already,  among  them 
the  beautiful  Mademoiselle  Collette.  She  pretended 
not  to  recognize  Kennedy  until  we  were  introduced, 
but  I  fancied  I  saw  her  start  at  finding  him  in  com- 
pany with  Burke.  Yet  she  did  not  exhibit  anything 
more  than  surprise,  which  was  quite  natural. 

Burke  turned  the  sheet  down  from  the  face  of  the 
figure  in  the  bunk.  Leon  had  been  a  fine-looking 
specimen  of  his  race,  with  good  features,  strong,  and 
well  groomed.  Kennedy  bent  over  and  examined 
the  body  carefully. 

"A  very  strange  case,"  remarked  the  ship's  sur- 
geon, whom  Burke  beckoned  over  a  moment  later. 

''Quite,"  agreed  Craig  absently,  as  he  drew  the 
296 


THE  FLUORISCINE  TEST  297 

vial  and  the  hypodermic  from  his  pocket,  dipped  the 
needle  in  and  shot  a  dose  of  the  stuff  into  the  side  of 
the  body. 

"I  can't  find  out  that  there  is  any  definite  cause 
of  death,"  resumed  the  surgeon. 

Before  Craig  could  reply  someone  else  entered  the 
darkened  cabin.  We  turned  and  saw  Collette  run 
over  to  him  and  take  his  hand. 

"My  guardian,  Monsieur  Aux  Cayes,"  she  intro- 
duced, then  turned  to  him  with  a  voluble  explanation 
of  something  in  French. 

Aux  Cayes  was  a  rather  distinguished  looking  Hay- 
tian,  darker  than  Collette,  but  evidently  of  the  better 
class  and  one  who  commanded  respect  among  the 
natives. 

* '  It  is  quite  extraordinary, ' '  he  said  with  a  marked 
accent,  taking  up  the  surgeon's  remark.  "As  for 
these  peopl§ — "  he  threw  out  his  hands  in  a  depre- 
cating gesture — "one  cannot  blame  them  for  being 
perplexed  when  your  doctors  disagree." 

Kennedy  had  covered  up  Leon's  face  again  and 
Collette  was  crying  softly. 

"Don't,  my  dear  child,"  soothed  Aux  Cayes,  pat- 
ting her  shoulder  gently.  "Please,  try  to  calm  thy- 
self." 

It  was  evident  that  he  adored  his  beautiful  ward 
and  would  have  done  anything  to  relieve  her  grief. 
Kennedy  evidently  thought  it  best  to  leave  the  two 
together,  as  Aux  Cayes  continued  to  talk  to  her  in 
diminutives  and  familiar  phrases  from  the  French. 

"Were  there  any  other  people  on  the  boat  who  might 
be  worth  watching?"  he  asked  as  we  rejoined  Burke, 
who  was  looking  about  at  the  gaping  crowd. 


298  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

Burke  indicated  a  group.  "Well,  there  was  an  old 
man,  Castine,  and  the  woman  he  calls  his  wife,"  he 
replied.  "They  were  the  ones  who  really  kept  the 
rest  from  throwing  the  body  overboard. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  yes, ' '  assented  Kennedy.  ' '  She  told  me  about 
them.  Are  they  here  now  ? ' ' 

Burke  moved  over  to  the  group  and  beckoned 
someone  aside  toward  us.  Castine  was  an  old  man 
with  gray  hair,  and  a  beard  which  gave  him  quite  an 
appearance  of  wisdom,  besides  being  a  matter  of  dis- 
tinction among  those  who  were  beardless.  With  him 
was  Madame  Castine,  much  younger  and  not  unat- 
tractive for  a  negress. 

' '  You  knew  Monsieur  Leon  well  1 ' '  asked  Kennedy. 

"We  knew  him  in  Port  au  Prince,  like  everybody," 
replied  Castine,  without  committing  himself  to  undue 
familiarity. 

"Do  you  know  of  any  enemies  of  his  on  the  boat?" 
cut  in  Burke.  "You  were  present  when  they  were 
demanding  that  his  body  be  thrown  over,  were  you 
not  ?  Who  was  foremost  in  that  ? ' ' 

Castine  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  a  deprecatory 
manner.  "I  do  not  speak  English  very  well,"  he  re- 
plied. "It  was  only  those  who  fear  the  dead." 

There  was  evidently  nothing  to  be  gained  by  trying 
on  him  any  of  Burke 's  third  degree  methods.  He  had 
always  that  refuge  that  he  did  not  understand  very 
well. 

I  turned  and  saw  that  Collette  and  Aux  Cayes  had 
come  out  of  the  cabin  to  the  deck  together,  he  holding 
her  arm  while  she  dabbed  the  tears  away  from  her 
wonderful  eyes. 

At  the  sight  of  us  talking  to  Castine  and  the  other 


THE  FLUORISCINE  TEST  299 

woman,  she  seemed  to  catch  her  breath.  She  did  not 
speak  to  us,  but  I  saw  the  two  women  exchange  a 
glance  of  appraisal,  and  I  determined  that ' '  Madame ' ' 
Castine  was  at  least  worth  observing. 

By  the  attitude  of  the  group  from  which  we  had 
drawn  them,  Castine,  it  seemed,  exercised  some  kind 
of  influence  over  all,  rich  and  poor,  revolutionist  and 
government  supporter. 

The  appearance  of  Collette  occasioned  a  buzz  of 
conversation  and  glances,  and  it  was  only  a  moment 
before  she  retreated  into  the  cabin  again.  Appar- 
ently she  did  not  wish  to  lose  anything,  as  long  as 
Kennedy  and  Burke  were  about. 

Kennedy  did  not  seem  to  be  so  much  interested  in 
quizzing  Castine  just  yet,  now  that  he  had  seen 
him,  as  he  was  in  passing  the  time  profitably  for  a  few 
minutes.  He  looked  at  his  watch,  snapped  it  back 
into  his  pocket,  and  walked  deliberately  into  the 
cabin  again. 

There  he  drew  back  the  cover  over  Leon's  face, 
bent  over  it,  raised  the  lids  of  the  eyes,  and  gazed 
into  them. 

Collette,  who  had  been  standing  near  him,  watch- 
ing every  motion,  drew  back  with  an  exclamation  of 
horror  and  surprise. 

' '  The  voodoo  sign  is  on  him ! ' '  she  cried.  ' '  It  must 
be  that!" 

Almost  in  panic  she  fled,  dragging  her  guardian 
with  her. 

I,  too,  looked.  The  man's  eyes  were  actually  green, 
now.  What  did  it  mean  ? 

" Burke,"  remarked  Kennedy  decisively,  "I  shall 
take  the  responsibility  of  having  the  body  transferred 


300  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

to  my  laboratory  where  I  can  observe  it.  I'll  leave 
you  to  attend  to  the  formalities  with  the  coroner. 
Then  I  want  you  to  get  in  touch  with  Forsythe  &  Co. 
Watch  them  without  letting  them  know  you  are  doing 
so — and  watch  their  visitors,  particularly." 

A  private  ambulance  was  called  and,  with  much 
wagging  of  heads  and  tongues,  the  body  of  Leon  was 
carried  on  a  stretcher,  covered  by  a  sheet,  down  the 
gangplank  and  placed  in  it.  We  followed  closely  in 
a  taxicab,  across  the  bridge  and  uptown. 

For  some  days,  I  may  say,  Kennedy  had  been  at 
work  in  his  laboratory  in  a  little  anteroom,  where  he 
was  installing  some  new  apparatus  for  which  he  had 
received  an  appropriation  from  the  trustees  of  the 
University. 

It  was  a  very  complicated  affair,  one  part  of  which 
seemed  to  be  a  veritable  room  within  the  room.  Into 
this  chamber,  as  it  were,  he  now  directed  the  men  to 
carry  Leon's  body  and  lay  it  on  a  sort  of  bed  or 
pallet  that  was  let  down  from  the  side  wall  of  the 
compartment. 

I  had  been  quite  mystified  by  the  apparatus  which 
Kennedy  had  set  up,  but  had  had  no  opportunity  to 
discuss  it  with  him  and  he  had  been  so  busy  install- 
ing it  that  he  had  not  taken  time,  often,  for  meals. 
In  fact,  the  only  way  I  knew  that  he  had  finished  was 
that  when  Burke  had  called  he  had  seemed  interested 
in  the  call. 

Outside  the  small  chamber  I  have  spoken  of,  in  the 
room  itself,  were  several  large  pieces  of  machinery, 
huge  cylinders  with  wheels  and  belts,  run  by  electric 
motors.  No  sooner  had  the  body  been  placed  in  the 
little  chamber  and  the  door  carefully  closed  than  Ken- 


THE  FLUORISCINE  TEST  301 

nedy  threw  a  switch,  setting  the  apparatus  in  motion. 

"How  could  Leon  have  been  killed?"  I  asked,  as 
he  rejoined  me  in  the  outside  laboratory.  "What  did 
Collette  mean  by  her  frightened  cry  of  the  'voodoo 
sign'?" 

The  incident  had  made  a  marked  impression  on 
me  and  I  had  been  unable  quite  to  arrive  at  any  sensi- 
ble explanation. 

"Of  course,  you  know  that  voodoo  means  literally 
anything  that  inspires  fear,"  remarked  Kennedy 
after  a  moment's  thought.  "The  god  of  voodoo  is  the 
snake.  I  cannot  say  now  what  it  was  that  she  feared. 
But  to  see  the  eyeballs  turn  green  is  uncanny, 
isn't  it?" 

' '  I  should  say  so, "  I  agreed.    ' '  But  is  that  all  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "No,  I  don't  believe  it  is. 
Hayti  is  the  hotbed  of  voodoo  worship.  The  cult  has 
inaugurated  a  sort  of  priesthood — often  a  priest  and  a 
priestess,  called  'papaloi'  and  'mammaloi' — papa  and 
mamma,  probably  with  a  corruption  of  the  French 
word,  'roi,'  king.  They  are,  as  it  were,  heads  of  the 
community,  father  and  mother,  king  and  queen.  Some 
of  the  leading  men  of  the  communities  in  the  islands 
of  the  Caribbean  are  secret  voodoists  and  leaders. 
Just  what  is  going  on  under  the  surface  in  this  case, 
I  cannot  even  hazard  a  guess.  But  there  is  some  dev- 
iltry afoot." 

Just  then  the  telephone  rang  and  Craig  answered  it. 

"It  was  from  Burke,"  he  said  as  he  hung  up  the 
receiver.  ' '  Confidential  agents  of  his  have  been  about. 
No  one  from  the  ship  seems  to  have  been  down  to  see 
Forsythe,  but  Forsythe  has  had  people  over  at  the 
ship.  Burke  says  someone  is  sending  off  great  bunches 


302  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

of  messages  to  Hayti — he  thinks  the  powerful  wireless 
apparatus  of  the  Haytien  is  being  used. ' ' 

For  a  moment  Kennedy  stood  in  the  center  of  the 
laboratory,  thinking.  Then  he  appeared  to  make  up 
his  mind  to  something. 

"Has  that  taxicab  gone?"  he  asked,  opening  a 
cabinet  from  which  he  took  several  packages. 

I  looked  out  of  the  window.  The  ambulance  had 
gone  back,  but  the  driver  of  the  car  had  evidently 
waited  to  call  up  his  office  for  instructions.  I  beck- 
oned to  him,  and  together  Kennedy  and  I  placed  the 
packages  in  the  car. 

Thus  we  were  able  quickly  to  get  back  again  to  the 
wharf  where  the  Haytien  was  berthed.  Instead  of 
going  aboard  again,  however,  Kennedy  stopped  just 
outside,  where  he  was  not  observed  and  got  out  of  the 
car,  dismissing  it. 

In  the  office  of  the  steamship  company,  he  sought 
one  of  the  employes  and  handed  him  a  card,  explain- 
ing that  we  were  aiding  Burke  in  the  case.  The  result 
of  the  parley  was  that  Kennedy  succeeded  in  getting 
to  the  roof  of  the  covered  pier  on  the  opposite  side 
from  that  where  the  ship  lay. 

There  he  set  to  work  on  a  strange  apparatus,  wires 
from  which  ran  up  to  a  flag  pole  on  which  he  was 
constructing  what  looked  like  a  hastily  improvised 
wireless  aerial.  That  part  arranged,  Kennedy  fol- 
lowed his  wires  down  again  and  took  them  in  by  a 
window  to  a  sort  of  lumber-room  back  of  the  office. 
Outside  everyone  was  too  busy  to  watch  what  we  were 
doing  there  and  Craig  could  work  uninterrupted. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  I  asked.  "Installing  a 
wireless  plant  ? ' ' 


THE  FLUORISCINE  TEST  303 

"Not  quite,"  he  smiled  quietly.  "This  is  a  home- 
made wireless  photo-recording  set.  Of  course,  wire- 
less aerials  of  amateurs  don't  hum  any  more  since  war 
has  caused  the  strict  censorship  of  all  wireless.  But 
there  is  no  reason  why  one  can't  receive  messages, 
even  if  they  can't  be  sent  by  everybody. 

"This  is  a  fairly  easy  and  inexpensive  means  by 
which  automatic  records  can  be  taken.  It  involves  no 
delicate  instruments  and  the  principal  part  of  it  can 
be  made  in  a  few  hours  from  materials  that  I  have  in 
my  laboratory.  The  basis  is  the  capillary  electro- 
meter. ' ' 

"Sounds  very  simple,"  I  volunteered,  trying  not  to 
be  sarcastic. 

"Well,  here  it  is,"  he  indicated,  touching  what 
looked  like  an  ordinary  soft  glass  tube  of  perhaps  a 
quarter  of  an  inch  diameter,  bent  U-shaped,  with  one 
limb  shorter  than  the  other. 

"It  is  filled  nearly  to  the  top  of  the  shorter  limb 
with  chemically  pure  mercury,"  he  went  on.  "On 
the  top  of  it,  I  have  poured  a  little  twenty  per  cent 
sulphuric  acid.  Dipping  into  the  acid  is  a  small 
piece  of  capillary  tube  drawn  out  to  a  very  fine  point 
at  the  lower  end." 

He  filled  the  little  tube  with  mercury  also.  "The 
point  of  this,"  he  observed,  "is  fine  enough  to  pre- 
vent the  mercury  running  through  of  its  own  weight 
— about  as  fine  as  a  hair. ' ' 

He  dipped  the  point  and  held  it  in  the  sulphuric 
acid  and  blew  through  the  capillary  tube.  When  the 
mercury  bubbled  through  the  point  in  minute  drops, 
he  stopped  blowing.  It  drew  back  for  a  short  distance 
by  capillary  attraction  and  the  acid  followed  it  up. 


304  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"You  can  see  that  connections  are  made  to  the 
mercury  in  the  arm  and  the  tube  by  short  pieces  of 
platinum  wire,"  he  continued.  "It  isn't  necessary  to 
go  into  the  theory  of  the  instrument.  But  the  most 
minute  difference  of  potential  between  the  two  masses 
of  mercury  will  cause  the  fine  point  at  the  junction  of 
the  liquids  to  move  up  and  down. 

"Connected  to  the  aerial  and  the  earth,  with  a 
crystal  detector  in  series,  it  is  only  a  matter  of  apply- 
ing an  ordinary  photo-recording  drum,  and  the  ma- 
chine is  made. ' ' 

He  had  been  setting  up  a  light-tight  box,  inside  of 
which  was  a  little  electric  lamp.  Opposite  was  a  drum 
covered  with  bromide  paper.  He  started  the  clock- 
work going  and  after  a  few  moments'  careful  obser- 
vation, we  went  away,  and  left  the  thing,  trusting 
that  no  one  was  the  wiser. 

Nothing  further  occurred  that  day,  except  for  fre- 
quent reports  from  Burke,  who  told  us  how  his  men 
were  getting  on  in  their  shadowing  of  Forsythe  &  Co. 
Apparently,  the  death  of  Leon  had  put  a  stop  to  revo- 
lutionary plots,  or  at  least  had  caused  the  plotters  to 
change  their  methods  radically. 

The  time  was  shortening,  too,  during  which  Burke 
could  keep  the  passengers  of  the  Haytien  under  such 
close  surveillance,  and  it  was  finally  decided  that  on 
the  next  morning  they  should  be  released,  while  all 
those  suspected  were  to  be  shadowed  separately  by 
Secret  Service  agents,  in  the  hope  that  once  free  they 
would  commit  some  overt  act  that  might  lead  to  a 
clew. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  RESPIRATION  CALORIMETER 

IT  was  early  the  next  morning,  about  half  an  hour 
after  the  time  set  for  the  release  of  the  passengers, 
that  our  laboratory  door  was  flung  open  and  Collette 
Aux  Cayes  rushed  in,  wildly  excited. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Kennedy  anxiously. 

' '  Someone  has  been  trying  to  keep  me  on  the  boat, ' ' 
she  panted.  "And  all  the  way  over  here  a  man  has 
been  following  me." 

Kennedy  looked  at  her  a  minute  calmly.  We  could 
understand  why  she  might  have  been  shadowed, 
though  it  must  have  been  a  bungling  job  of  Burke 's 
operative.  But  who  could  have  wanted  her  kept  on 
the  boat  ? 

"I  don't  know,"  she  replied,  in  answer  to  Ken- 
nedy's question.  "But  somehow  I  was  the  only  one 
not  told  that  we  could  go.  And  when  I  did  go,  one 
of  the  Secret  Service  men  stopped  me. ' ' 

"Are  you  sure  it  was  a  Secret  Service  man?" 

' '  He  said  he  was. ' ' 

"Yes,  but  if  he  had  been,  he  would  not  have  done 
that,  nor  let  you  get  away,  if  he  had.  Can't  you  im- 
agine anyone  who  might  want  you  detained  longer  ? ' ' 

She  looked  at  us,  half  frightened.  "N — not  unless  it 
is  that  man — or  the  woman  with  him,"  she  replied, 
clasping  her  hands. 

"You  mean  Castine?" 

305 


306  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  avoiding  the  use  of  his  name. 
"Ever  since  you  had  the  body  removed,  he  has  been 
in  great  fear.  I  have  heard  him  ask  fifty  times, '  Where 
have  they  taken  him  ? '  and  '  Is  he  to  be  embalmed  ? '  " 

' '  That 's  strange, ' '  remarked  Kennedy.  ' '  Why  that 
anxiety  from  him?  I  remember  that  it  was  he  who 
wanted  the  body  left  alone.  Is  it  for  fear  that  we 
might  discover  something  which  might  be  covered 
up?" 

Kennedy  disappeared  into  the  anteroom  and  I 
heard  him  making  a  great  fuss  as  he  regulated  the 
various  pieces  of  machinery  that  surrounded  the  little 
chamber. 

Some  minutes  later,  he  emerged. 

"Meet  us  here  in  an  hour,"  he  directed  Collette, 
' '  with  your  guardian. ' ' 

Quickly  Craig  telephoned  for  a  tank  of  oxygen  to 
be  sent  over  to  the  laboratory,  then  got  Burke  on  the 
wire  and  asked  him  to  meet  us  down  at  the  dock. 

We  arrived  first  and  Craig  hurried  into  the  lumber- 
room,  where  fortunately  he  found  everything  undis- 
turbed. He  tore  off  the  strip  of  paper  from  the  drum 
and  held  it  up.  On  it  was  a  series  of  marks,  which 
looked  like  dots  and  dashes,  of  a  peculiar  kind,  along 
a  sort  of  base  line.  Carefully  he  ran  his  eye  over  the 
strip.  Then  he  shoved  it  into  his  pocket  in  great 
excitement. 

"Hello,"  greeted  Burke,  as  he  came  up  puffing 
from  the  hurried  trip  over  from  the  Customs  House, 
where  his  office  was.  "What's  doing  now?" 

"A  great  deal,  I  think,"  returned  Kennedy.  "Can 
you  locate  Castine  and  that  woman  and  come  up  to 
the  laboratory — right  away?" 


THE    RESPIRATION   CALORIMETER    307 

"I  can  put  my  finger  on  them  in  five  minutes  and 
be  there  in  half  an  hour,"  he  returned,  not  pausing 
to  inquire  further,  for,  like  me,  Burke  had  learned 
that  Kennedy  could  not  be  hurried  in  any  of  his  reve- 
lations. 

Together,  Craig  and  I  returned  to  the  laboratory 
to  find  that  Collette  Aux  Cayes  was  already  there  with 
her  guardian,  as  solicitous  as  ever  for  her  comfort 
and  breathing  fire  and  slaughter  against  the  miscre- 
ants who  had  tried  to  detain  her,  without  his  knowl- 
edge. 

Some  minutes  later  Castine  and  "Madame"  Cas- 
tine  arrived.  At  sight  of  Collette  she  seemed  both 
defiant  and  restless,  as  though  sensing  trouble,  I 
thought.  Few  words  were  spoken  now  by  anyone,  as 
Burke  and  I  completed  the  party. 

' '  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  step  into  the  little  ante- 
room with  me  ?  "  invited  Craig,  holding  open  the  door 
for  us. 

We  entered  and  he  followed;  then,  as  he  led  the 
way,  stopped  before  a  little  glass  window  in  the  com- 
partment which  I  have  described.  Collette  was  next 
to  me.  I  could  feel  the  tenseness  of  her  senses  as  she 
gazed  through  the  window  at  the  body  on  the  shelf- 
like  pallet  inside. 

"What  is  this  thing?"  asked  Aux  Cayes,  as  Col- 
lette drew  back,  and  he  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

For  the  moment  Kennedy  said  nothing,  but  opened 
a  carefully  sealed  door  and  slid  the  pallet  out,  un- 
hinging it,  while  I  saw  Castine  trembling  and  actually 
turning  ashen  about  the  lips. 

"This,"  Kennedy  replied  at  length,  "is  what  is 
known  as  a  respiration  calorimeter,  which  I  have  had 


308  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

constructed  after  the  ideas  of  Professors  Atwater  and 
Benedict  of  Wesleyan,  with  some  improvements  of  my 
own.  It  is  used,  as  you  may  know,  in  studying  food 
values,  both  by  the  government  and  by  other  investi- 
gators. A  man  could  live  in  that  room  for  ten  or 
twelve  days.  My  idea,  however,  was  to  make  use  of  it 
for  other  things  than  that  for  which  it  was  intended. ' ' 

He  took  a  few  steps  over  to  the  complicated  appa- 
ratus which  had  so  mystified  me,  now  at  rest,  as  he 
turned  a  switch  on  opening  the  carefully  sealed  door. 

"It  is  what  is  known  as  a  closed  circuit  calori- 
meter, ' '  he  went  on.  ' '  For  instance,  through  this  tube 
air  leaves  the  chamber.  Here  is  a  blower.  At  this 
point,  the  water  in  the  air  is  absorbed  by  sulphuric 
acid.  Next  the  carbon  dioxide  is  absorbed  by  soda 
lime.  Here  a  little  oxygen  is  introduced  to  keep  the 
composition  normal  and  at  this  point  the  air  is  re- 
turned to  the  chamber." 

He  traced  the  circuit  as  he  spoke,  then  paused  and 
remarked,  "Thus,  you  see,  it  is  possible  to  measure 
the  carbon  dioxide  and  the  other  respiration  products. 
As  for  heat,  the  walls  are  constructed  so  that  the  gain 
or  loss  of  heat  in  the  chamber  is  prevented.  Heat 
cannot  escape  in  any  other  way  than  that  provided 
for  carrying  it  off  and  measuring  it.  Any  heat  is 
collected  by  this  stream  of  water  which  keeps  the  tem- 
perature constant  and  in  that  way  we  can  measure 
any  energy  that  is  given  off.  The  walls  are  of  con- 
centric shells  of  copper  and  zinc  with  two  of  wood, 
between  which  is  'dead  air,'  an  effective  heat  in- 
sulator. In  other  words,"  he  concluded,  "it  is  like  a 
huge  thermos  bottle." 

It  was  all  very  weird  and  fascinating.    But  what  he 


THE   RESPIRATION   CALORIMETER    309 

could  have  been  doing  with  a  dead  body,  I  could  not 
imagine.  Was  there  some  subtle,  unknown  poison 
which  had  hitherto  baffled  science,  but  which  now  he 
was  about  to  reveal  to  us? 

He  seemed  to  be  in  no  hurry  to  overcome  the  psy- 
chological effect  his  words  had  on  his  auditors,  for  as 
he  picked  up  and  glanced  at  a  number  of  sheets  of 
figures,  he  went  on:  "In  the  case  of  live  persons, 
there  is  a  food  aperture  here,  a  little  window  with  air 
locks  arranged  for  the  passage  of  food  and  drink. 
That  large  window  through  which  you  looked  admits 
light.  There  is  also  a  telephone.  Everything  is  ar- 
ranged so  that  all  that  enters,  no  matter  how  minute, 
is  weighed  and  measured.  The  same  is  true  of  all  that 
leaves.  Nothing  is  too  small  to  take  into  account." 

He  shook  the  sheaf  of  papers  before  us.  "Here  I 
have  some  records  which  have  been  made  by  myself, 
and,  in  my  absence,  by  one  of  my  students.  In  them 
the  most  surprising  thing  that  I  have  discovered  is 
that  in  the  body  of  Leon  metabolism  seems  still  to  be 
going  on. ' ' 

I  listened  to  him  in  utter  amazement,  wondering 
toward  what  his  argument  was  tending. 

"I  got  my  first  clew  from  an  injection  of  fluori- 
scine,"  he  resumed.  "You  know  there  are  many 
people  who  have  a  horror  of  being  buried  alive.  It  is 
a  favorite  theme  of  the  creepy-creep  writers.  As  you 
know,  the  heart  may  stop  beating,  but  that  does  not 
necessarily  mean  that  the  person  is  dead.  There  are 
on  record  innumerable  cases  where  the  use  of  stimu- 
lants has  started  again  the  beating  of  a  heart  that 
has  stopped. 

"Still,  burial  alive  is  hardly  likely  among  civilized 


310  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

people,  for  the  simple  reason  that  the  practice  of  em- 
balming makes  death  practically  certain.  At  once, 
when  I  heard  that  there  had  been  objections  to  the 
embalming  of  this  body,  I  began  to  wonder  why  they 
had  been  made. 

"Then  it  occurred  to  me  that  one  certain  proof  of 
death  was  the  absolute  cessation  of  circulation.  You 
may  not  know,  but  scientists  have  devised  this  fluo- 
riscine  test  to  take  advantage  of  that.  I  injected 
about  ten  grains.  If  there  is  any  circulation,  there 
should  be  an  emerald  green  discoloration  of  the  cornea 
of  the  eye.  If  not,  the  eye  should  remain  perfectly 
white.  f 

"I  tried  the  test.  The  green  eye-ball  gave  me  a 
hint.  Then  I  decided  to  make  sure  with  a  respiration 
calorimeter  that  would  measure  whatever  heat,  what 
breath,  no  matter  how  minute  they  were." 

Collette  gave  a  start  as  she  began  to  realize  vaguely 
what  Craig  was  driving  at. 

"It  was  not  the  voodoo  sign,  Mademoiselle,"  he 
said,  turning  to  her.  "It  was  a  sign,  however,  of 
something  that  suggested  at  once  to  me  the  connection 
of  voodoo  practices." 

There  was  something  so  uncanny  about  it  that  my 
own  heart  almost  skipped  beating,  while  Burke,  by 
my  other  side,  muttered  something  which  was  not 
meant  to  be  profane. 

Collette  was  now  trembling  violently  and  I  took  her 
arm  so  that  if  she  should  faint  she  would  not  fall 
either  on  my  side  or  on  that  of  her  guardian,  who 
seemed  himself  on  the  verge  of  keeling  over.  Castine 
was  mumbling.  Only  his  wife  seemed  to  retain  her 
defiance. 


THE    RESPIRATION   CALORIMETER    311 

"The  skill  of  the  voodoo  priests  in  the  concoction 
of  strange  draughts  from  the  native  herbs  of  Hayti  is 
well  known,"  Kennedy  began  again.  "There  are 
among  them  fast  and  slow  poisons,  poisons  that  will 
kill  almost  instantly  and  others  that  are  guaged  in 
strength  to  accumulate  and  resemble  wasting  away 
and  slow  death. 

"I  know  that  in  all  such  communities  today  no  one 
will  admit  that  there  is  such  a  thing  still  as  the  human 
sacrifice,  'the  lamb  without  horns.'  But  there  is  on 
record  a  case  where  a  servant  was  supposed  to  have 
died.  The  master  ordered  the  burial,  and  it  took 
place.  But  the  grave  was  robbed.  Later  the  victim 
was  resuscitated  and  sacrificed. 

"Most  uncanny  of  the  poisons  is  that  which  will 
cause  the  victim  to  pass  into  an  unconscious  condition 
so  profound  that  it  may  easily  be  mistaken  for  death. 
It  is  almost  cataleptic.  Such  is  the  case  here.  My 
respiration  calorimeter  shows  that  from  that  body 
there  are  still  coming  the  products  of  respiration, 
that  there  is  still  heat  in  it.  It  must  have  been  that 
peculiar  poison  of  the  voodoo  priests  that  was  used. ' ' 

Racing  on  now,  not  giving  any  of  us  a  chance  even 
to  think  of  the  weird  thing,  except  to  shudder  in- 
stinctively, Kennedy  drew  from  his  pocket  and 
slapped  down  on  a  table  the  photographic  records 
that  had  been  taken  by  his  home-made  wireless  re- 
cording apparatus. 

"From  Mr.  Burke,"  he  said,  as  he  did  so,  "I  re- 
ceived the  hint  that  many  messages  were  being  trans- 
mitted by  wireless,  secretly  perhaps,  from  the 
Haytien.  I  wanted  to  read  those  messages  that  were 
being  flashed  so  quietly  and  secretly  through  the  air. 


312  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

How  could  it  be  done  ?  I  managed  to  install  down  at 
the  dock  an  apparatus  known  as  the  capillary  electro- 
meter. By  the  use  of  this  almost  unimaginably  deli- 
cate instrument  I  was  able  to  drag  down  literally  out 
of  the  air  the  secrets  that  seemed  so  well  hidden  from 
all  except  those  for  whom  they  were  intended. 
Listen." 

He  took  the  roll  of  paper  from  the  drum  and  ran 
his  finger  along  it  hastily,  translating  to  himself  the 
Morse  code  as  he  passed  from  one  point  to  another. 

"Here,"  cried  Craig  excitedly.  "  'Leon  out  of  way 
for  time  safely.  Revolution  suppressed  before  For- 
sythe  can  make  other  arrangements.  Conspiracy 
frustrated.'  Just  a  moment.  Here's  another.  'Have 
engaged  bridal  suite  at  Hotel  La  Coste.  Communi- 
cate with  me  there  after  tomorrow. '  ' 

Still  holding  the  wireless  record,  Kennedy  swung 
about  to  Burke  and  myself.  "Burke,  stand  over  by 
the  door,"  he  shouted.  "Walter — that  tank  of  oxy- 
gen, please." 

I  dragged  over  the  heavy  tank  which  he  had  ordered 
as  he  adjusted  a  sort  of  pulmotor  breathing  appa- 
ratus over  Leon.  Then  I  dropped  back  to  my  place 
beside  Collette,  as  the  oxygen  hissed  out. 

Castine  was  now  on  his  knees,  his  aged  arms  out- 
stretched. 

"Before  God,  Mr.  Kennedy— I  didn't  do  it.  I 
didn't  give  Leon  the  poison!" 

Kennedy,  however,  engrossed  in  what  he  was  doing, 
paid  no  attention  to  the  appeal. 

Suddenly  I  saw  what  might  have  been  a  faint 
tremor  of  an  eyelid  on  the  pallid  body  before  us. 

I  felt  Collette  spring  forward  from  my  side. 


THE    RESPIRATION   CALORIMETER   313 

"He  lives!  He  lives!"  she  cried,  falling  on  her 
knees  before  the  still  cataleptic  form.  ' '  Guillaume ! ' ' 

There  was  just  a  faint  movement  of  the  lips,  as 
though  as  the  man  came  back  from  another  world  he 
would  have  called,  "Collette!" 

' '  Seize  that  man — it  is  his  name  signed  to  the  wire- 
less messages!"  shouted  Kennedy,  extending  his  ac- 
cusing forefinger  at  Aux  Cayes,  who  had  plotted  so 
devilishly  to  use  his  voodoo  knowledge  both  to  sup- 
press the  revolution  and  at  the  same  time  to  win  his 
beautiful  ward  for  himself  from  her  real  lover. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE  EVIL  EYE 

"You  don't  know  the  woman  who  is  causing  the 
trouble.  You  haven't  seen  her  eyes.  But — Madre  de 
Dios! — my  father  is  a  changed  man.  Sometimes  I 
think  he  is — what  you  call — mad!" 

Our  visitor  spoke  in  a  hurried,  nervous  tone,  with 
a  marked  foreign  accent  which  was  not  at  all  un- 
pleasing.  She  was  a  young  woman,  unmistakably 
beautiful,  of  the  dark  Spanish  type  and  apparently  a 
South  American. 

"I  am  Senorita  Inez  de  Mendoza  of  Lima,  Peru," 
she  introduced  herself,  as  she  leaned  forward  in  her 
chair  in  a  high  state  of  overwrought  excitement. 
"We  have  been  in  this  country  only  a  short  time — 
my  father  and  I,  with  his  partner  in  a  mining  venture, 
Mr.  Lockwood.  Since  the  hot  weather  came  we  have 
been  staying  at  the  Beach  Inn  at  Atlantic  Beach." 

She  paused  a  moment  and  hesitated,  as  though  in 
this  strange  land  of  the  north  she  had  no  idea  of 
which  way  to  turn  for  help. 

"Perhaps  I  should  have  gone  to  see  a  doctor  about 
him,"  she  considered,  doubtfully;  then  her  emotions 
got  the  better  of  her  and  she  went  on  passionately, 
"but,  Mr.  Kennedy  it  is  not  a  case  for  a  doctor.  It 
is  a  case  for  a  detective — for  someone  who  is  more 
than  a  detective." 

She  spoke  pleadingly  now,  in  a  soft  musical  voice 
314 


THE  EVIL  EYE  315 

that  was  far  more  pleasing  to  the  ear  than  that 
of  the  usual  Spanish-American.  I  had  heard  that 
the  women  of  Lima  were  famed  for  their  beauty  and 
melodious  voices.  Senorita  Mendoza  surely  upheld 
their  reputation. 

There  was  an  appealing  look  in  her  soft  brown  eyes 
and  her  thin,  delicate  lips  trembled  as  she  hurried  on 
with  her  strange  story. 

' '  I  never  saw  my  father  in  such  a  state  before, ' '  she 
murmured.  ''All  he  talks  about  is  the  'big  fish' — 
whatever  that  may  mean — and  the  curse  of  Mansiche. 
At  times  his  eyes  are  staring  wide  open.  Sometimes  I 
think  he  has  a  violent  fever.  He  is  excited — and 
seems  to  be  wasting  away.  He  seems  to  see  strange 
visions  and  hear  voices.  Yet  I  think  he  is  worse  when 
he  is  quiet  in  a  dark  room  alone  than  when  he  is  down 
in  the  lobby  of  the  hotel  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd. ' ' 

A  sudden  flash  of  fire  seemed  to  light  up  her  dark 
eyes.  ' '  There  is  a  woman  at  the  hotel,  too, ' '  she  went 
on,  ' '  a  woman  from  Truxillo,  Senora  de  Moche.  Ever 
since  she  has  been  there  my  father  has  been  growing 
worse  and  worse. ' ' 

"Who  is  this  Senora  de  Moche?"  asked  Kennedy, 
studying  the  Senorita  as  if  she  were  under  a  lens. 

"A  Peruvian  of  an  old  Indian  family,"  she  re- 
plied. "She  has  come  to  New  York  with  her  son, 
Alfonso,  who  is  studying  at  the  University  here.  I 
knew  him  in  Peru, ' '  she  added,  as  if  by  way  of  con- 
fession, "when  he  was  a  student  at  the  University  of 
Lima." 

There  was  something  in  both  her  tone  and  her  man- 
ner that  would  lead  one  to  believe  that  she  bore  no 
enmity  toward  the  son — indeed  quite  the  contrary — 


316  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTEK 

whatever  might  be  her  feelings  toward  the  mother  of 
de  Moche. 

Kennedy  reached  for  our  university  catalogue  and 
found  the  name,  Alfonso  de  Moche,  a  post-graduate 
student  in  the  School  of  Engineering,  and  therefore 
not  in  any  of  Kennedy's  own  courses.  I  could  see  that 
Craig  was  growing  more  and  more  interested. 

"And  you  think,"  he  queried,  "that  in  some  way 
this  woman  is  connected  with  the  strange  change  that 
has  taken  place  in  your  father?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  temporized,  but  the  tone  of  her 
answer  was  sufficient  to  convey  the  impression  that  in 
her  heart  she  did  suspect  something,  she  knew  not 
what. 

"It's  not  a  long  run  to  Atlantic  Beach,"  considered 
Kennedy.  "I  have  one  or  two  things  that  I  must 
finish  up  first,  however. ' ' 

"Then  you  will  come  down  tonight?"  she  asked,  as 
Kennedy  rose  and  took  the  little  white  silk  gloved 
hand  which  she  extended. 

"Tonight  surely,"  answered  Craig,  holding  the 
door  for  her  to  pass  out. 

' '  Well, ' '  I  said,  when  we  were  alone,  ' '  what  is  it — 
a  romance  or  a  crime  ? ' ' 

"Both,  I  think,"  he  replied  abstractedly,  taking  up 
the  experiment  which  the  visit  had  interrupted. 

"I  think,"  he  remarked  late  in  the  afternoon,  as  he 
threw  off  his  acid-stained  smock,  ' '  that  I  will  go  over 
to  the  University  library  before  it  closes  and  refresh 
my  mind  on  some  of  those  old  Peruvian  antiquities 
and  traditions.  The  big  fish  or  peje  grande,  as  I  re- 
member it,  was  the  name  given  by  the  natives  to  one 
of  the  greatest  buried  treasures  about  the  time  of 


THE  EVIL  EYE  317 

Pizarro's  conquest.  If  I  remember  correctly,  Man- 
siehe  was  the  great  cacique,  or  something  of  that  sort 
— the  ruler  in  northern  Peru  at  that  time.  He  is  said 
to  have  left  a  curse  on  any  native  who  ever  divulged 
the  whereabouts  of  the  treasure  and  the  curse  was  also 
to  fall  on  any  Spaniard  who  might  discover  it." 

For  more  than  an  hour  Kennedy  delved  into  the 
archeological  lore  in  the  library.  Then  he  rejoined  me 
at  the  laboratory  and  after  a  hasty  bite  of  dinner  we 
hurried  down  to  the  station. 

That  evening  we  stepped  off  the  train  at  Atlantic 
Beach  to  make  our  way  to  the  Beach  Inn.  The  resort 
was  just  springing  into  night  life,  as  the  millions  of 
incandescent  lights  flooded  it  with  a  radiance  which 
we  could  see  reflected  in  the  sky  long  before  our  train 
arrived.  There  was  something  intoxicating  about  the 
combination  of  the  bracing  salt  air  and  the  gay 
throngs  seeking  pleasure. 

Instead  of  taking  the  hotel  'bus,  Kennedy  decided 
to  stroll  to  the  inn  along  the  boardwalk.  We  were 
just  about  to  turn  into  the  miniature  park  which  sepa- 
rated the  inn  from  the  walk  when  we  noticed  a  wheel 
chair  coming  in  our  direction.  In  it  were  a  young 
man  and  a  woman  of  well-preserved  middle  age.  They 
had  evidently  been  enjoying  the  ocean  breeze  after 
dinner,  and  the  sound  of  music  had  drawn  them  back 
to  the  hotel. 

We  entered  the  lobby  of  the  inn  just  as  the  first 
number  of  the  evening  concert  by  the  orchestra  was 
finishing.  Kennedy  stood  at  the  desk  for  a  moment 
while  Senorita  Mendoza  was  being  paged,  and  ran  his 
eye  over  the  brilliant  scene.  In  a  minute  the  boy 
returned  and  led  us  through  the  maze  of  wicker 


318  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

chairs  to  an  alcove  just  off  the  hall  which  later  in  the 
evening  would  be  turned  into  a  ballroom. 

On  a  wide  settee,  the  Senorita  was  talking  with  ani- 
mation to  a  tall,  clean-cut  young  man  in  evening 
clothes,  whose  face  bore  the  tan  of  a  sun  much 
stronger  than  that  at  Atlantic  Beach.  He  was  unmis- 
takably of  the  type  of  American  soldier  of  fortune. 
In  a  deep  rocker  before  them  sat  a  heavy-set  man 
whose  piercing  black  eyes  beetled  forth  from  under 
«,bushy  eyebrows.  He  was  rather  distinguished  look- 
ing, and  his  close-cropped  hair  and  mustache  set 
him  off  as  a  man  of  affairs  and  consequence  in  his  own 
country. 

As  we  approached,  Senorita  Mendoza  rose  quickly. 
I  wondered  how  she  was  going  to  get  over  the  awk- 
ward situation  of  introducing  us,  for  surely  she  did 
not  intend  to  let  her  father  know  that  she  was  em- 
ploying a  detective.  She  did  it  most  cleverly,  with  a 
significant  look  at  Kennedy  which  he  understood. 

"Good-evening.  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,"  she 
greeted.  Then,  turning  to  her  father,  she  introduced 
Craig.  "This  is  Professor  Kennedy,"  she  explained, 
"whom  I  met  at  the  reception  of  the  Hispano- Ameri- 
can Society.  You  remember  I  told  you  he  was  so 
much  interested  in  our  Peruvian  ruins." 

Don  Luis's  eyes  seemed  fairly  to  glitter  with  ex- 
citement. They  were  prominent  eyes,  staring,  and  I 
could  not  help  studying  them. 

"Then,  Sefior  Kennedy,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  know 
of  our  ruins  of  Chan-Chan,  of  Chima — those  wonder- 
ful places — and  have  heard  the  legend  of  the  peje 
grandef"  His  eyes,  by  that  time,  were  almost  start- 
ing from  their  sockets,  and  I  noticed  that  the  pupils 


THE  EVIL  EYE  319 

were  dilated  almost  to  the  size  of  the  iris.  "We  must 
sit  down,"  he  went  on,  "and  talk  about  Peru." 

The  soldier  of  fortune  also  had  risen  as  we  ap- 
proached. In  her  soft  musical  voice,  the  Senorita 
now  interrupted  her  father. 

"Professor  Kennedy,  let  me  introduce  you  to  Mr. 
Lockwood,  my  father's  partner  in  a  mining  project 
which  brings  us  to  New  York." 

As  Kennedy  and  I  shook  hands  with  the  young 
mining  engineer,  I  felt  that  Lockwood  was  something 
more  to  her  than  a  mere  partner  in  her  father's  min- 
ing venture. 

We  drew  up  chairs  and  joined  the  circle. 

Kennedy  said  something  about  mining  and  the 
very  word  "mine"  seemed  to  excite  Senor  Mendoza 
still  further. 

"Your  American  financiers  have  lost  millions  in 
mining  in  Peru,"  he  exclaimed  excitedly,  taking  out 
a  beautifully  chased  gold  cigarette  case,  "but  we  are 
going  to  make  more  millions  than  they  ever  dreamed 
of,  because  we  are  simply  going  to  mine  for  the  prod- 
ucts of  centuries  of  labor  already  done,  for  the  great 
treasure  of  Truxillo." 

He  opened  the  cigarette  case  and  handed  it  about. 
The  cigarettes  seemed  to  be  his  own  special  brand. 
We  lighted  up  and  puffed  away  for  a  moment.  There 
was  a  peculiar  taste  about  them,  however,  which  I 
did  not  like.  In  fact,  I  think  that  the  Latin-Ameri- 
can cigarettes  do  not  seem  to  appeal  to  an  American 
very  much,  anyhow. 

As  we  talked,  I  noticed  that  Kennedy  evidently 
shared  my  own  tastes,  for  he  allowed  his  cigarette  to 
go  out,  and  after  a  puff  or  two  I  did  the  same.  For 


320  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

the  sake  of  my  own  comfort  I  drew  out  one  of  my 
own  cigarettes  as  soon  as  I  could  do  so  politely. 

"We  are  not  the  only  ones  who  have  sought  the 
peje  grande,"  resumed  Mendoza  eagerly,  "but  we 
are  the  only  ones  who  are  seeking  it  in  the  right 
place,  and,"  he  added,  leaning  over  with  a  whisper, 
"I  am  the  only  one  who  has  the  concession,  the  mon- 
opoly, from  the  government  to  seek  in  what  we  know 
to  be  the  right  place.  Others  have  found  the  little 
fish.  We  shall  find  the  big  fish." 

He  had  raised  his  voice  from  the  whisper  and  I 
caught  the  Senorita  looking  anxiously  at  Kennedy, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "You  see?  His  mind  is  full  of 
only  one  subject." 

Senor  Mendoza 's  eyes  had  wandered  from  us  and 
he  seemed  all  of  a  sudden  to  grow  wild. 

"We  shall  find  it,"  he  cried,  "no  matter  what  ob- 
stacles man  or  devil  put  in  our  way.  It  is  ours — for 
a  simple  piece  of  engineering — ours!  The  curse  of 
Mansiche — pouf ! ' ' 

He  snapped  his  fingers  almost  defiantly  aa  he  said 
it  in  a  high-pitched  voice.  There  was  an  air  of 
bravado  about  it  and  I  could  not  help  feeling  that 
perhaps  in  his  heart  he  was  not  so  sure  of  himself 
as  he  would  have  others  think.  It  was  as  though 
some  diabolical  force  had  taken  possession  of  his  brain 
and  he  fought  it  off. 

Kennedy  quickly  followed  the  staring  glance  of 
Mendoza.  Out  on  the  broad  veranda,  by  an  open 
window  a  few  yards  from  us,  sat  the  woman  of  the 
wheel  chair.  The  young  man  who  accompanied  her 
had  his  back  toward  us  for  the  moment,  but  she  was 
looking  fixedly  in  our  direction,  paying  no  attention 


THE  EVIL  EYE  321 

apparently  to  the  music.  She  was  a  large  woman, 
with  dark  hair,  and  contrasting  full  red  lips.  Her 
face,  in  marked  contradiction  to  her  Parisian  cos- 
tume and  refined  manners,  had  a  slight  copper 
swarthiness  about  it. 

But  it  was  her  eyes  that  arrested  and  held  one's 
attention.  Whether  it  was  in  the  eyes  themselves  or 
in  the  way  that  she  used  them,  there  could  be  no  mis- 
take about  the  hypnotic  power  that  their  owner 
wielded.  She  saw  us  looking  at  her,  but  it  made  no 
difference.  Not  for  an  instant  did  she  allow  our  gaze 
to  distract  her  in  the  projection  of  their  weird  power 
straight  at  Don  Luis  himself. 

Don  Luis,  on  his  part,  seemed  fascinated. 

He  rose,  and,  for  a  moment,  I  thought  that  he  was 
going  over  to  speak  to  her,  as  if  drawn  by  that  in- 
tangible attraction  which  Poe  has  so  cleverly  ex- 
pressed in  his  "Imp  of  the  Perverse."  Instead,  in 
the  midst  of  the  number  which  the  orchestra  was 
playing,  he  turned  and,  as  though  by  a  superhuman 
effort,  moved  away  among  the  guests  out  into  the 
brighter  lights  and  gayety  of  the  lobby. 

I  glanced  up  in  time  to  see  the  anxious  look  on  the 
Senorita's  face  change  momentarily  into  a  flash  of 
hatred  toward  the  woman  in  the  window. 

The  young  man  turned  just  about  that  time,  and 
there  was  no  mistaking  the  ardent  glance  he  directed 
toward  the  fair  Peruvian.  I  fancied  that  her  face 
softened  a  bit,  too. 

She  resumed  her  normal  composure  as  she  said  to 
Lockwood,  "You  will  excuse  me,  I  know.  Father  is 
tired  of  the  music.  I  think  I  will  take  him  for  a  turn 
down  the  boardwalk.  If  you  can  join  us  in  our  rooms 


322  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

in  an  hour  or  so,  may  we  see  you?"  she  asked,  with 
another  significant  glance  at  Kennedy. 

Craig  had  barely  time  to  reply  that  we  should  be 
delighted  before  she  was  gone.  Evidently  she  did  not 
dare  let  her  father  get  very  far  out  of  her  sight. 

We  sat  for  a  few  moments  smoking  and  chatting 
with  Lockwood. 

"What  is  the  curse  of  Mansiche?"  asked  Kennedy 
at  length. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  returned  Lockwood,  impa- 
tiently flicking  the  ashes  from  his  cigar,  as  though 
such  stories  had  no  interest  for  the  practical  mind  of 
an  engineer.  "Some  old  superstition.  I  don't  know 
much  about  the  story;  but  I  do  know  that  there  is 
treasure  in  that  great  old  Chimu  mound  near  Trux- 
illo,  and  that  Don  Luis  has  got  us  the  government 
concession  to  bore  into  it,  if  we  can  only  raise  the 
capital  to  carry  it  out. ' ' 

Kennedy  showed  no  disposition  to  leave  the  aca- 
demic and  become  interested  in  the  thing  from  the 
financial  standpoint,  and  the  conversation  dragged. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  apologized  Lockwood  at  length, 
"but  I  have  some  very  important  letters  that  I  must 
get  off  before  the  mail  closes.  I  '11  see  you,  I  presume, 
when  the  Senorita  and  Don  Luis  come  back  ? ' ' 

Kennedy  nodded.  In  fact,  I  think  he  was  rather 
glad  of  the  opportunity  to  look  things  over  unham- 
pered. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE  BURIED  TREASURE 

SENORA  DE  MOCHE— for  I  had  no  doubt  now  that 
this  was  the  Peruvian  Indian  woman  of  whom  Seno- 
rita  Inez  had  spoken — seemed  to  lose  interest  in  us 
and  in  the  concert  the  moment  Don  Luis  went  out. 
Her  son  also  seemed  restive.  He  was  a  good-looking 
fellow,  with  high  forehead,  nose  slightly  aquiline, 
chin  and  mouth  firm,  in  fact  the  whole  face  refined 
and  intellectual,  though  tinged  with  melancholy. 

We  strolled  down  the  wide  veranda,  and  as  we 
passed  the  woman  and  her  son  I  was  conscious  of  that 
strange  feeling  (which  psychologists  tell  us,  however, 
has  no  foundation)  of  being  stared  at  from  behind. 

Kennedy  turned  suddenly  and  again  we  passed,  just 
in  time  to  catch  in  a  low  tone  from  the  young  man, 
"Yes,  I  have  seen  him  at  the  University.  Everyone 
knows  that  he — " 

The  rest  was  lost. 

It  was  quite  evident  now  that  they  thought  we  were 
interested  in  them.  There  was,  then,  no  use  in  our 
watching  them  further.  Indeed,  when  we  turned 
again,  we  found  that  the  Seiiora  and  Alfonso  had 
risen,  gone  through  the  long,  open  window  inside, 
and  were  making  their  way  slowly  to  the  elevator. 

The  door  of  the  elevator  had  scarcely  closed  when 
Kennedy  turned  on  his  heel  and  quickly  made  his 
way  back  to  the  alcove  where  we  had  been  sitting. 

323 


324  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

Lying  about  on  the  ash  tray  on  a  little  wicker  table 
were  several  of  Mendoza's  half-burned  cigarettes. 
We  sat  down  a  moment  and,  after  a  hasty  glance 
around,  Craig  gathered  them  up  and  folded  them  in 
a  piece  of  paper. 

Leisurely  Kennedy  strolled  over  to  the  desk,  and, 
as  guests  in  a  summer  hotel  will  do,  looked  over  the 
register.  The  Mendozas,  father  and  daughter,  were 
registered  in  rooms  810  and  812,  a  suite  on  the  eighth 
floor.  Lockwood  was  across  the  hall  in  811. 

Turning  the  pages,  Kennedy  paused,  then  nudged 
me.  Senora  de  Moche  and  Senor  Alfonso  de  Moche 
were  on  the  same  floor  in  839  and  841,  just  around  an 
"L"  in  the  hall.  The  two  parties  must  meet  fre- 
quently not  only  downstairs  in  the  inn,  but  in  the 
corridors  and  elevators. 

Kennedy  said  nothing,  but  glanced  at  his  watch. 
We  had  nearly  three-quarters  of  an  hour  to  wait  yet 
until  our  pretty  client  returned. 

"There's  no  use  in  wasting  time  or  in  trying  to 
conceal  our  identity, ' '  he  said  finally,  drawing  a  card 
from  his  pocket  and  handing  it  to  the  clerk.  ' '  Senora 
de  Moche,  please." 

Much  to  my  surprise,  the  Senora  telephoned  down 
that  she  would  see  us  in  her  own  sitting-room,  and  I 
followed  Kennedy  into  the  elevator. 

Alfonso  was  out  and  the  Senora  was  alone. 

"I  hope  that  you  will  pardon  me,"  began  Craig 
with  an  elaborate  explanation,  "but  I  have  become 
interested  in  an  opportunity  to  invest  in  a  Peruvian 
venture  and  they  tell  me  at  the  office  that  you  are  a 
Peruvian.  I  thought  that  perhaps  you  could  ad- 
vise me. '  * 


THE  BURIED  TREASURE  325 

She  looked  at  us  keenly.  I  fancied  that  she  de- 
tected the  subterfuge,  yet  she  did  not  try  to  avoid  us. 
On  closer  view,  her  eyes  were  really  remarkable — 
those  of  a  woman  endowed  with  an  abundance  of 
health  and  energy — eyes  that  were  full  of  what  the 
old  phrenologists  used  to  call  amativeness,  denoting 
a  nature  capable  of  intense  passion,  whether  of  love 
or  hate.  Yet  I  confess  that  I  could  not  find  anything 
especially  abnormal  about  them,  as  I  had  about 
Mendoza  's. 

"I  suppose  you  mean  that  scheme  of  Senor  Men- 
doza and  his  friend,  Mr.  Lockwood,"  she  returned, 
speaking  rapidly.  "Let  me  tell  you  about  it.  You 
may  know  that  the  Chimu  tribes  in  the  north  were 
the  wealthiest  at  the  time  of  the  coming  of  the  Span- 
iards. Well,  they  had  a  custom  of  burying  with  their 
dead  all  their  movable  property.  Sometimes  a  com- 
mon grave  or  huaca  was  given  to  many.  That  would 
become  a  cache  of  treasure. 

"Back  in  the  seventeenth  century,"  she  continued, 
leaning  forward  eagerly  as  she  talked,  "a  Spaniard 
opened  a  Chimu  huaca  and  found  gold  that  is  said 
to  have  been  worth  a  million  dollars.  An  Indian  told 
him  of  it.  After  he  had  shown  him  the  treasure,  the 
Indian  told  the  Spaniard  that  he  had  given  him  only 
the  little  fish,  the  peje  chica,  but  that  some  day  he 
would  give  him  the  big  fish,  the  peje  grande. 

"The  Indian  died,"  she  went  on  solemnly,  flash- 
ing at  Craig  a  glance  from  her  wonderful  eyes.  "He 
was  poisoned  by  the  other  members  of  his  tribe." 
She  paused,  then  flashed,  "That  is  my  tribe,  my 
family." 

She  paused  a  moment.     "The  big  fish  is  still  a 


326  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

secret — or  at  least  it  was  until  they  got  it  from  my 
brother,  to  whom  the  tradition  had  been  intrusted. 
They  drove  him  crazy — until  he  talked.  Then,  after 
he  had  told  the  secret,  and  lost  his  mind,  he  threw 
himself  one  day  into  Lake  Titicaca. ' ' 

She  stopped  dramatically  in  her  passionate  out- 
pouring of  the  tragedies  that  had  followed  the  hidden 
treasure. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  more  than  you  probably  already 
know,"  she  resumed,  watching  our  faces  intently. 
"You  know,  I  suppose,  that  the  treasure  is  believed  to 
be  in  a  large  mound,  a  tumulus  I  think  you  call  it, 
visible  from  our  town  of  Truxillo.  Many  people  have 
tried  to  open  it,  but  the  mass  of  sand  pours  down  on 
them  and  they  have  been  discouraged.  But  Senor 
Mendoza  believes  that  he  knows  just  where  to  bore 
and  Mr.  Lockwood  has  a  plan  for  a  well-timbered  tun- 
nel which  can  be  driven  at  the  right  point. ' ' 

She  said  it  with  a  sort  of  quiet  assurance  that  con- 
veyed the  impression  without  her  saying  it  that  the 
venture  was  somehow  doomed  to  failure,  that  these 
desecrators  were  merely  toying  with  fate.  All  through 
her  remarks  one  could  feel  that  she  suspected  Men- 
doza of  having  been  responsible  for  the  downfall  and 
tragedy  of  her  brother,  who  had  betrayed  the  age-old 
secret. 

Her  eyes  assumed  a  far-away,  dreamy  look  as  she 
went  on.  "You  must  know  that  we  Peruvians  have 
been  so  educated  that  we  never  explore  ruins  for  hid- 
den treasure — nol  even  if  we  have  the  knowledge  of 
engineering  to  do  so. ' ' 

Apparently  she  was  thinking  of  her  son  and  his 
studies  at  the  University.  One  could  follow  her 


THE  BURIED  TREASURE  327 

thoughts  as  they  flitted  from  him  to  the  beautiful  girl 
with  whom  she  had  seen  us. 

"We  are  a  peculiar  race,"  she  proceeded.  "We 
seldom  intermarry  with  other  races.  We  are  as  proud 
as  Senor  Mendoza,  as  proud  of  our  unmixed  lineage 
as  your  'belted  earls.'  " 

She  said  it  with  a  quiet  dignity  quite  in  contrast 
with  the  nervous,  hasty  manner  of  Don  Luis.  There 
was  no  doubt  that  the  race  feeling  cut  deep. 

Kennedy  had  been  following  her  closely  and  I  could 
see  that  the  cross  currents  of  superstition,  avarice  and 
race  hatred  in  the  case  presented  a  tangle  that  chal- 
lenged him. 

"Thank  you,"  he  murmured,  rising.  "You  have 
told  me  quite  enough  to  make  me  think  seriously  be- 
fore I  join  in  any  such  undertaking." 

She  smiled  enigmatically  and  we  bowed  ourselves 
out. 

"A  most  baffling  woman,"  was  Craig's  only  com- 
ment as  we  rode  down  again  in  the  elevator  to  wait  for 
the  return  of  Don  Luis  and  the  Senorita. 

Scarcely  had  their  chair  set  them  down  at  the  inn 
than  Alfonso  seemed  to  appear  from  nowhere.  He 
had  evidently  been  waiting  in  the  shadow  of  the 
porch  for  them. 

We  stood  aside  and  watched  the  little  drama.  For 
a  few  minutes  the  Senorita  talked  with  him.  One  did 
not  need  to  be  told  that  she  had  a  deep  regard  for  the 
young  man.  She  wanted  to  see  him,  yet  she  did  not 
want  to  see  him.  Don  Luis,  on  the  contrary,  seemed 
to  become  quite  restive  and  impatient  again  and  to 
wish  to  cut  the  conversation  short. 

It  was  self-evident  that  Alfonso  was  deeply  in  love 


328  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

with  Inez.  I  wondered  whether,  after  all,  the  trouble 
was  that  the  proud  old  Castilian  Don  Luis  would 
never  consent  to  the  marriage  of  his  daughter  to  one 
of  Indian  blood?  Was  he  afraid  of  a  love  forbidden 
by  race  prejudice? 

In  any  event,  one  could  easily  imagine  the  feelings 
of  Alphonso  toward  Lockwood,  whom  he  saw  carrying 
off  the  prize  under  his  very  eyes.  As  for  his  mother, 
we  had  seen  that  the  Peruvians  of  her  caste  were  a 
proud  old  race.  Her  son  was  the  apple  of  her  eye. 
Who  were  these  to  scorn  her  race,  her  family? 

It  was  a  little  more  than  an  hour  after  our  first 
meeting  when  the  party,  including  Lockwood,  who 
had  finished  his  letters,  gathered  again  up  in  the 
rooms  of  the  Mendozas. 

It  was  a  delightful  evening,  even  in  spite  of  the  ten- 
sion on  which  we  were.  We  chatted  about  everything 
from  archeology  to  Wall  Street,  until  I  could  well 
imagine  how  anyone  possessed  of  an  imagination  sus- 
ceptible to  the  influence  of  mystery  and  tradition 
would  succumb  to  the  glittering  charm  of  the  magic 
words,  peje  chica,  and  feel  all  the  gold  hunter's  en- 
thusiasm when  brought  into  the  atmosphere  of  the 
peje  grande.  Visions  of  hidden  treasure  seemed  to 
throw  a  glamour  over  everything. 

Kennedy  and  the  Senorita  had  moved  over  to  a  win- 
dow, where  they  were  gazing  out  on  the  fairyland  of 
Atlantic  Beach  spread  out  before  them,  while  Lock- 
wood  and  Don  Luis  were  eagerly  quizzing  me  on  the 
possibilities  of  newspaper  publicity. 

"Oh,  Professor  Kennedy,"  I  heard  her  say  under 
her  breath,  "sometimes  I  fear  that  it  is  the  mal  de  ojo 
— the  evil  eye." 


THE  BURIED  TREASURE  329 

I  did  not  catch  Craig's  answer,  but  I  did  catch  him 
time  and  again  narrowly  observing  Don  Luis.  Our 
host  was  smoking  furiously  now,  and  his  eyes  had 
even  more  than  before  that  peculiar,  staring  look. 
By  the  way  his  veins  stood  out  I  could  see  that 
Mendoza's  heart  action  must  be  rapid.  He  was  talk- 
ing more  and  more  wildly  as  he  grew  more  excited- 
Even  Lockwood  noticed  it  and,  I  thought,  frowned. 

Slowly  the  conviction  was  forced  on  me.  The  man 
was  mad — raving  mad! 

"Really,  I  must  get  back  to  the  city  tonight,"  I 
overheard  Craig  say  to  the  Sefiorita  as  finally  he 
turned  from  the  window  toward  us. 

Her  face  clouded,  but  she  said  nothing. 

"If  you  could  arrange  to  have  us  dine  with  you  to- 
morrow night  up  here,  however,"  he  added  quickly 
in  a  whisper,  "I  think  I  might  be  prepared  to  take 
some  action." 

"By  all  means,"  she  replied  eagerly,  as  though 
catching  at  anything  that  promised  aid. 

On  the  late  train  back,  I  half  dozed,  wondering 
what  had  caused  Mendoza's  evident  madness.  Was 
it  a  sort  of  auto-hypnotism?  There  was,  I  knew,  a 
form  of  illusion  known  as  ophthalmophobia — fear  of 
the  eye.  It  ranged  from  mere  aversion  at  being  gazed 
at,  all  the  way  to  the  subjective  development  of  real 
physical  illness  out  of  otherwise  trifling  ailments.  If 
not  that,  what  object  could  there  be  for  anyone  to 
cause  such  a  condition  ?  Might  it  be  for  the  purpose 
of  robbery  ?  Or  might  it  be  for  revenge  ? 

Back  in  the  laboratory,  Kennedy  pulled  out  from 
a  cabinet  a  peculiar  apparatus.  It  seemed  to  consist 
of  a  sort  of  triangular  prism  set  with  its  edge  ver- 


330  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

tically  on  a  rigid  platform  attached  to  a  massive 
stand. 

Next  he  lighted  one  of  the  cigarette  stubs  which 
he  had  carried  away  so  carefully.  The  smoke  curled 
up  between  a  powerful  light  and  the  peculiar  instru- 
ment, while  Craig  peered  through  a  lens,  manipu- 
lating the  thing  with  exhaustless  patience  and  skill. 

Finally  he  beckoned  me  over  and  I  looked  through, 
too.  On  a  sort  of  fine  grating  all  I  could  see  was  a 
number  of  strange  lines. 

"That,"  he  explained  in  answer  to  my  unspoken 
question  as  I  continued  to  gaze,  "is  one  of  the  latest 
forms  of  the  spectroscope,  known  as  the  interfero- 
meter, with  delicately  ruled  gratings  in  which  power 
to  resolve  the  straight  close  lines  in  the  spectrum  is 
carried  to  the  limit  of  possibility.  A  small  watch  is 
delicate,  but  it  bears  no  comparison  to  the  delicacy 
of  these  defraction  spectroscopes. 

"Every  substance,  you  know,  is,  when  radiating 
light,  characterized  by  what  at  first  appears  to  be 
almost  a  haphazard  set  of  spectral  lines  without  rela- 
tion to  one  another.  But  they  are  related  by  mathe- 
matical laws  and  the  apparent  haphazard  character 
is  only  the  result  of  our  lack  of  knowledge  of  how  to 
interpret  the  results." 

He  resumed  his  place  at  the  eye-piece  to  check  over 
his  results.  ' '  Walter, ' '  he  said  finally  with  a  twinkle 
of  the  eye,  "I  wish  you'd  go  out  and  find  me  a  cat." 

"A  cat?"  I  repeated. 

"Yes — a  cat — felis  domesticus,  if  it  sounds  better 
that  way,  a  plain  ordinary  cat. ' ' 

I  jammed  on  my  hat  and,  late  as  it  was,  sallied 
forth  on  this  apparently  ridiculous  mission. 


THE  BURIED  TREASURE  331 

Several  belated  passers-by  and  a  policeman  watched 
me  as  though  I  were  a  house-breaker  and  I  felt  like  a 
fool,  but  at  last  by  perseverance  and  tact  I  managed 
to  capture  a  fairly  good  specimen  of  the  species  and 
transported  it  in  my  arms  to  the  laboratory  without 
an  undue  number  of  scratches. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THE  WEED  OF  MADNESS 

IN  my  absence  Craig  had  set  to  work  on  a  peculiar 
apparatus,  as  though  he  were  distilling  something 
from  several  of  the  other  cigarette  stubs. 

I  placed  the  cat  in  a  basket  and  watched  Craig 
until  finally  he  seemed  to  be  rewarded  for  his  patient 
labors.  It  was  well  along  toward  morning  when  he 
obtained  in  a  test-tube  a  few  drops  of  a  colorless, 
almost  odorless  liquid. 

I  watched  him  curiously  as  he  picked  the  cat  out  of 
the  basket  and  held  it  gently  in  his  arms.  With  a 
dropper  he  sucked  up  a  bit  of  the  liquid  from  the  test- 
tube.  Then  he  let  a  small  drop  fall  into  the  eye  of 
the  cat. 

The  cat  blinked  a  moment  and  I  bent  over  to  ob- 
serve it  more  closely.  The  cat's  eye  seemed  to  en- 
large, even  under  the  light,  as  if  it  were  the  prover- 
bial cat's  eye  under  a  bed. 

What  did  it  mean?  Was  there  such  a  thing  as  the 
drug  of  the  evil  eye  ? 

"What  have  you  found?"  I  queried. 

"Something  very  much  like  the  so-called  'weed  of 
madness,'  I  think,"  he  replied  slowly. 

' '  The  weed  of  madness  ?  "  I  repeated. 

"Yes,  something  like  that  Mexican  toloache  and 
the  Hindu  datura  which  you  must  have  heard  about," 
he  continued.  "You  know  the  jimson  weed — the 

332 


THE  WEED  OF  MADNESS  333 

Jamestown  weed?  It  grows  almost  everywhere  in  the 
world,  but  most  thrivingly  in  the  tropics.  They  are 
all  related  in  some  way,  I  believe.  The  jimson  weed 
on  the  Pacific  coast  of  the  Andes  has  large  white 
flowers  which  exhale  a  faint,  repulsive  odor.  It  is  a 
harmless  looking  plant  with  its  thick  tangle  of  leaves, 
a  coarse  green  growth,  with  trumpet-shaped  flowers. 
But,  to  one  who  knows  its  properties,  it  is  quite  too 
dangerously  convenient. 

"I  think  those  cigarettes  have  been  doped,"  he 
went  on  positively.  "It  isn't  toloache  that  was  used. 
I  think  it  must  be  some  particularly  virulent  variety 
of  the  jimson  weed.  Perhaps  it  is  in  the  preparation 
of  the  thing.  The  seeds  of  the  stramonium,  which  is 
the  same  thing,  contain  a  higher  percentage  of  poison 
than  the  leaves  and  flowers.  Perhaps  they  were  used. 
I  can't  say." 

He  took  a  drop  of  the  liquid  he  had  isolated  and 
added  a  drop  of  nitric  acid.  Then  he  evaporated  it 
by  gentle  heat  and  it  left  a  residue  which  was  slightly 
yellow. 

Next  he  took  from  the  shelf  over  his  table  a  bottle 
marked  alcoholic  solution,  potassium  hydrate,  and  let 
a  drop  fall  on  it.  Instantly  the  residue  became  a 
beautiful  purple,  turning  rapidly  to  violet,  then  to 
dark  red  and  finally  disappeared. 

"Stramonium  all  right,"  he  nodded  with  satisfac- 
tion. That  was  known  as  Vitali's  test.  Yes,  there 
was  stramonium  in  those  cigarettes — datura  stramo- 
nium—perhaps a  trace  of  hyocyamino.  They  are  all, 
like  atropine,  mydriatic  alkaloids,  so-called  from  the 
effect  on  the  eye.  One  one-hundred-thousandth  of  a 
grain  will  affect  the  cat's  eye.  You  saw  how  it  acted 


334  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

It  is  more  active  than  even  atropine.  Better  yet,  you 
remember  how  Don  Luis's  eyes  looked." 

' '  How  about  the  Senora  ? "  I  put  in. 

"Oh/'  he  answered  quickly,  "her  pupils  were  nor- 
mal enough.  Didn't  you  notice  that?  This  concen- 
trated poison  which  has  been  used  in  Mendoza's 
cigarettes  does  not  kill,  at  least  not  outright.  It  is 
worse.  Slowly  it  accumulates  in  the  system.  It  acts 
on  the  brain.  Of  all  the  dangers  to  be  met  with  in 
superstitious  countries,  these  mydriatic  alkaloids  are 
among  the  worst.  They  offer  a  chance  for  crimes  of 
the  most  fiendish  nature — worse  than  the  gun  or  the 
stiletto,  and  with  little  fear  of  detection.  It  is  the 
production  of  insanity ! ' ' 

Horrible  though  the  idea  was  I  could  not  doubt  it 
in  the  face  of  Craig's  investigations  and  what  I  had 
already  seen.  In  fact,  it  was  necessary  for  me  only 
to  recall  the  peculiar  sensations  I  myself  had  experi- 
enced after  smoking  merely  a  few  puffs  of  one  of 
Mendoza's  cigarettes  in  order  to  be  convinced  of  the 
possible  effect  of  the  insidious  poison  contained  in 
the  many  that  he  smoked. 

It  was  almost  dawn  before  Craig  and  I  left  the 
laboratory  after  his  discovery  of  the  manner  of  the 
stramonium  poisoning.  I  was  thoroughly  tired, 
though  not  so  much  so  that  my  dreams  were  not 
haunted  by  a  succession  of  baleful  eyes  peering  at  me 
from  the  darkness. 

I  slept  late,  but  Kennedy  was  about  early  at  the 
laboratory,  verifying  his  experiments  and  checking 
over  his  results,  carefully  endeavoring  to  isolate  any 
other  of  the  closely  related  mydriatic  alkaloids  that 
might  be  contained  in  the  noxious  fumes  of  the  poi- 


THE  WEED  OF  MADNESS  335 

soned  tobacco.  Though  he  was  already  convinced  of 
what  was  going  on,  I  knew  that  he  considered  it  a 
matter  of  considerable  medico-legal  importance  to  be 
exact,  for  if  the  affair  ever  came  to  the  stage  of  secur- 
ing an  indictment,  the  charge  could  be  sustained  only 
by  specific  proof. 

Early  in  the  forenoon  Kennedy  left  me  alone  in  the 
laboratory  and  made  a  trip  downtown,  where  he  vis- 
ited a  South  American  tobacco  dealer  and  placed  a 
rush  order  for  a  couple  of  hundred  cigarettes,  dupli- 
cating in  shape  and  quality  those  which  Senor  Men- 
doza  preferred,  except,  however,  the  deadly  drug 
which  was  in  those  he  was  smoking. 

I  had  some  writing  to  do  and  was  busily  engaged 
at  my  typewriter  when  I  suddenly  became  conscious 
of  that  feeling  of  being  watched.  Perhaps  I  had 
heard  a  footstep  outside  and  did  not  remember  it,  but 
at  any  rate  I  had  the  feeling.  I  stopped  tapping  the 
keys  suddenly  and  wheeled  about  in  my  chair  just  in 
time  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  face  dodging  back  from 
the  window.  I  don't  think  that  I  would  be  prepared 
to  swear  just  who  it  was,  but  there  was  just  enough 
that  was  familiar  about  the  fleeting  glimpse  of  the 
eyes  to  make  me  feel  uncomfortable. 

I  ran  to  the  door,  but  it  was  too  late.  The  in- 
truder had  disappeared.  Still,  the  more  I  thought 
about  it,  the  more  determined  I  was  to  verify  my  sus- 
picions, if  possible.  I  put  on  my  hat  and  walked  over 
to  the  registrar's  office.  Sure  enough,  Alfonso  de 
Moche  was  registered  in  the  summer  school  as  well 
as  in  the  regular  course.  I  was  now  fully  convinced 
that  it  was  he  who  had  been  watching  us. 

Not  satisfied,  I  determined  to  make  further  in- 


336  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

quiries  about  the  young  man.  He  had  been  at  the 
University  that  morning,  I  learned  from  one  of  his 
professors,  and  that  convinced  me  more  than  ever 
that  he  had  employed  at  least  a  part  of  the  time  in 
spying  on  us.  As  I  had  expected,  the  professor  told 
me  that  he  was  an  excellent  student,  though  very 
quiet  and  reserved.  His  mind  seemed  to  run  along 
the  line  of  engineering  and  mining,  especially,  and  I 
could  not  help  drawing  the  conclusion  that  perhaps 
he,  too,  was  infected  by  the  furore  for  treasure  hunt- 
ing, in  spite  of  his  Indian  ancestry. 

Nothing  further  occurred,  however,  during  the  day 
to  excite  suspicion  and  Craig  listened  with  interest, 
though  without  comment,  when  I  related  what  had 
happened.  He  divided  his  time  during  the  rest  of  the 
day  between  some  experimental  work  of  his  own  and 
fits  of  deep  reverie  in  which  he  was  evidently  trying 
to  piece  together  the  broken  strands  of  the  strange 
story  in  which  we  were  now  concerned. 

The  package  of  cigarettes  which  he  had  ordered 
was  delivered  late  in  the  afternoon.  Kennedy  had 
already  wrapped  up  a  small  package  of  a  powder 
and  filled  a  small  atomizer  with  some  liquid.  Stow- 
ing these  things  away  in  his  pockets  as  best  he  could, 
with  a  little  vial  which  he  shoved  into  his  waistcoat 
pocket,  he  announced  that  he  was  ready  at  last  to 
take  an  early  train  to  Atlantic  Beach. 

We  dined  that  night,  as  Craig  had  requested,  with 
the  Mendozas  and  Lockwood  up  in  the  sitting-room  of 
Don  Luis's  suite.  It  was  a  delightfully  situated 
room,  overlooking  the  boardwalk  and  the  ocean,  and 
the  fresh  wind  that  was  wafted  in  from  the  water 
made  it  quite  the  equal  of  a  roof  garden. 


THE  WEED  OF  MADNESS  337 

Dinner  had  been  ordered  but  not  served,  when 
Craig  maneuvered  to  get  a  few  minutes  alone  with 
Inez.  Although  I  could  not  hear,  I  gathered  that  he 
was  outlining  at  least  a  part  of  his  plans  to  her  and 
seeking  her  co-operation.  She  seemed  to  understand 
and  approve,  and  I  really  believe  that  the  dinner  was 
the  first  in  a  long  time  that  the  distracted  girl  had 
really  enjoyed. 

While  we  were  waiting  for  it,  I  suddenly  became 
aware  that  she  had  contrived  to  leave  Kennedy  and 
myself  alone  in  the  sitting-room  for  a  moment.  It 
was  evidently  part  of  Craig's  plan.  Instantly  he 
opened  a  large  case  in  which  Mendoza  kept  cigarettes 
and  hastily  substituted  for  those  in  it  an  equal  num- 
ber of  the  cigarettes  which  he  had  had  made. 

The  dinner  itself  was  more  like  a  family  party 
than  a  formal  dinner,  for  Kennedy,  when  he  wanted 
to  do  so,  had  a  way  of  ingratiating  himself  and  lead- 
ing the  conversation  so  that  everyone  was  at  his  ease. 
Everything  progressed  smoothly  until  we  came  to 
the  coffee.  The  Senorita  poured,  and  as  she  raised  the 
coffee  pot  Kennedy  called  our  attention  to  a  long  line 
of  colliers  just  on  the  edge  of  the  horizon,  slowly 
making  their  way  up  the  coast. 

I  was  sitting  next  to  the  Senorita,  not  particularly 
interested  in  colliers  at  that  moment.  From  a  fold  in 
her  dress  I  saw  her  hastily  draw  a  little  vial  and  pour 
a  bit  of  yellowish,  syrupy  liquid  into  the  cup  which 
she  was  preparing  for  her  father. 

I  could  not  help  looking  at  her  quickly.  She  saw 
me,  then  raised  her  finger  to  her  lips  with  an  explana- 
tory glance  at  Kennedy,  who  was  keeping  the  others 
interested  in  colliers.  Instantly  I  recognized  the 


338  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

little  vial  that  Kennedy  had  shoved  into  his  vest 
pocket. 

More  coffee  and  innumerable  cigarettes  followed. 
I  did  my  best  to  aid  in  the  conversation,  but  my  real 
interest  was  centered  in  Don  Luis  himself,  whom  I 
could  not  help  watching  closely. 

Was  it  a  fact  or  was  it  merely  imagination?  He 
seemed  quite  different.  The  pupils  of  his  eyes  did 
not  seem  to  be  quite  so  dilated  as  they  had  been  the 
night  before.  Even  his  heart  action  appeared  to  be 
more  normal.  I  think  the  Senorita  noticed  it,  too. 

Dinner  over  and  darkness  cutting  off  the  magnifi- 
cent sweep  of  ocean  view,  Inez  suggested  that  we  go 
down  to  the  concert,  as  had  been  their  custom.  It 
was  the  first  time  that  Kennedy  had  not  seemed  to  fall 
in  with  any  of  her  suggestions,  but  I  knew  that  that, 
too,  must  be  part  of  his  preconcerted  plan. 

"If  you  will  pardon  us,"  he  excused,  "Mr.  Jame- 
son and  I  have  some  friends  over  at  Stillson  Hall 
whom  we  have  promised  to  run  in  to  see.  I  think 
this  would  be  a  good  opportunity.  We'll  rejoin  you — 
in  the  alcove  where  we  were  last  night,  if  possible. ' ' 

No  one  objected.  In  fact  I  think  Lockwood  was 
rather  glad  to  have  a  chance  to  talk  to  Inez,  for 
Kennedy  had  monopolized  a  great  deal  of  her  atten- 
tion. 

We  left  them  at  the  elevator,  but  instead  of  leaving 
the  Inn  Kennedy  edged  his  way  around  into  the 
shadow  of  a  doorway  where  we  could  watch.  For- 
tunately the  Senorita  managed  to  get  the  same  settee 
in  the  corner  which  we  had  occupied  the  night  before. 

A  moment  later  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  familiar 
face  at  the  long  window  opening  on  the  veranda. 


THE  WEED  OF  MADNESS  339 

Senora  de  Moche  and  her  son  had  drawn  up  chairs, 
just  outside. 

They  had  not  seen  us  and,  as  far  as  we  knew,  had 
no  reason  to  suspect  that  we  were  about.  As  we 
watched  the  two  groups,  I  could  not  fail  to  note  that 
the  change  in  Don  Luis  was  really  marked.  There 
was  none  of  the  wildness  in  his  conversation,  as  there 
had  been.  Once  he  even  met  the  keen  eye  of  the 
Senora,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  have  the  effect  it  had 
had  on  the  previous  occasion. 

"What  was  it  you  had  the  Senorita  drop  into  his 
coffee?"  I  asked  Craig  under  my  breath. 

"You  saw  that?"  he  smiled.  "It  was  pilocarpine, 
jaborandi,  a  plant  found  largely  in  Brazil,  one  of  the 
antidotes  for  stramonium  poisoning.  It  doesn't  work 
with  everyone.  But  it  seems  to  have  done  so  with 
Mendoza.  Besides,  the  caffeine  in  the  coffee  probably 
aided  the  pilocarpine.  Did  you  notice  how  it  con- 
tracted his  pupils  almost  back  to  normal  again?" 

Kennedy  did  not  take  his  eyes  off  the  two  groups  as 
he  talked.  "I've  got  at  the  case  from  a  brand-new 
angle,  I  think,"  he  added.  "Unless  I  am  mistaken, 
when  the  criminal  sees  Don  Luis  getting  better,  it 
will  mean  another  attempt  to  substitute  more  cigar- 
ettes doped  with  that  drug." 

Satisfied  so  far  with  the  play  he  was  staging,  Ken- 
nedy moved  over  to  the  hotel  desk,  and  after  a  quiet 
conference  with  the  head  clerk,  found  out  that  the 
room  next  to  the  suite  of  the  Mendozas  was  empty. 
The  clerk  gave  him  several  keys  and  with  a  last  look 
at  the  Senora  and  her  son,  to  see  whether  they  were 
getting  restive,  I  followed  Craig  into  the  elevator  and 
we  rode  up  to  the  eighth  floor  again. 


340  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

The  halls  were  deserted  now  and  we  entered  the 
room  next  to  the  Mendozas  without  being  observed. 
It  was  a  simple  matter  after  that  to  open  a  rather 
heavy  door  that  communicated  between  the  two  suites. 

Instead  of  switching  on  the  light,  Kennedy  first 
looked  about  carefully  until  he  was  assured  that  no 
one  was  there.  Quickly  he  sprinkled  on  the  floor  from 
the  hall  door  to  the  table  on  which  the  case  of  cigar- 
ettes lay  some  of  the  powder  which  I  had  seen  him 
wrap  up  in  the  laboratory  before  we  left.  Then  with 
the  atomizer  he  sprayed  over  it  something  that  had  a 
pungent,  familiar  odor,  walking  backwards  from  the 
hall  door  as  he  did  so. 

"Don't  you  want  more  light?"  I  asked,  starting 
to  cross  to  a  window  to  raise  a  shade  to  let  the  moon- 
light stream  in. 

"Don't  walk  on  it,  Walter,"  he  whispered,  push- 
ing me  back.  "First  I  sprinkled  some  powdered 
iodine  and  then  ammonia  enough  to  moisten  it.  It 
evaporates  quickly,  leaving  what  I  call  my  anti- 
burglar  powder." 

He  had  finished  his  work  and  now  the  evening  wind 
was  blowing  away  the  slight  fumes  that  had  risen. 
For  a  few  moment  he  left  the  door  into  the  next  room 
open  to  clear  away  the  odor,  then  quietly  closed  it,  but 
did  not  lock  it. 

In  the  darkness  we  settled  ourselves  now  for  a  vigil 
that  was  to  last  we  knew  not  how  long.  Neither  of 
us  spoke  as  we  half  crouched  in  the  shadow  of  the 
next  room,  listening. 

Slowly  the  time  passed.  Would  anyone  take  advan- 
tage of  the  opportunity  to  tamper  with  that  box  of 
cigarettes  on  Mendoza's  table?  Who  was  it  who  had 


THE  WEED  OF  MADNESS  341 

conceived  and  executed  this  devilish  plot?  What  was 
the  purpose  back  of  it  all? 

Once  or  twice  we  heard  the  elevator  door  clang  and 
waited  expectantly,  but  nothing  happened.  I  began 
to  wonder  whether  if  someone  had  a  pass-key  to  the 
Mendoza  suite  we  could  hear  them  enter.  The  out- 
side hall  was  thickly  carpeted  and  deadened  every 
footfall  if  one  exercised  only  reasonable  caution. 

"Don't  you  think  we  might  leave  the  door  ajar  a 
little?"  I  suggested  anxiously. 

"Sh!"  was  Kennedy's  only  comment  in  the  nega- 
tive. 

I  glanced  now  and  then  at  my  watch  and  was  sur- 
prised to  see  how  early  it  was.  The  minutes  were 
surely  leaden-footed. 

In  the  darkness  and  silence  I  fell  to  reviewing  the 
weird  succession  of  events  which  had  filled  the  past 
two  days.  I  am  not  by  nature  superstitious,  but  in 
the  darkness  I  could  well  imagine  a  staring  succes- 
sion of  eyes,  beginning  with  the  dilated  pupils  of  Don 
Luis  and  always  ending  with  those  remarkable  pierc- 
ing black  eyes  of  the  Indian  woman  with  the  melan- 
choly-visaged  son. 

Suddenly  I  heard  in  the  next  room  what  sounded 
like  a  series  of  little  explosions,  as  though  someone 
were  treading  on  match-heads. 

"My  burglar  powder,"  muttered  Craig  in  a  hoarse 
whisper.  "Every  step,  even  those  of  a  mouse  run- 
ning across,  sets  it  off ! " 

He  rose  quickly  and  threw  open  the  door  into  the 
Mendoza  suite.  I  sprang  through  after  him. 

There,  in  the  shadows,  I  saw  a  dark  form,  starting 
back  in  retreat.  But  it  was  too  late. 


342  THE  SOCIAL  GANGSTER 

In  the  dim  light  of  the  little  explosions,  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  face — the  face  of  the  person  who  had 
been  craftily  working  on  the  superstition  of  Don  Luis, 
now  that  his  influence  had  got  from  the  government 
the  precious  concession,  working  with  the  dread  drug 
to  drive  him  insane  and  thus  capture  both  Mendoza's 
share  of  the  fortune  as  well  as  his  daughter,  well 
knowing  that  suspicion  would  rest  on  the  jealous 
Indian  woman  with  the  wonderful  eyes  whose  brother 
had  already  been  driven  insane  and  whose  son  Inez 
Mendoza  really  loved  better  than  himself — the  soldier 
of  fortune,  Lockwood. 


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